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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440172">You jump, I jump</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisalt/pseuds/sisalt'>sisalt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Historical Inaccuracy, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Lamb is a bitch, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, RMS Titanic, Strangers to Lovers, They're both 20, Titanic AU, minor physical abuse, retelling of the titanic except it's simon and baz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:35:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisalt/pseuds/sisalt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Basilton Grimm-Pitch boards the RMS Titanic on the way to his wedding in America, he expects it to be the worst trip of his life. That is, until a certain blonde-hair beauty comes to sweep him off his feet, and now he's starting to rethink how bad this trip could possibly be.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch &amp; Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. light's go out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Chapter title from the song Clocks by Coldplay.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>April 10th, 1912</b>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>My wedding is next week.</p>
<p>I should be excited for it. When people get married, it’s supposed to be one of the best days of their lives. It should be the start of the story you and your lover to share. Most people have been planning their wedding for years. Everything already thought of down to the color and quality of the dinner cloths.</p>
<p>I never thought much about my wedding day until recently. I always figured it wasn’t something that would ever happen for me– it’s not common for men to marry other men. But now it’s on the horizon and it’s all my family ever talks about. We’re travelling to America for it because my fiancé is American and that’s where his family lives. I’m supposed to be moving in with them there.</p>
<p>I’ve brought the majority of my belongings along with me. My collection of paintings, books, and my violin all sit in the back of the car.</p>
<p>The docks are crowded with people. The driver has taken it upon himself to disregard this fact and drive through anyway. It's a long, slow drive to the docks. There’s not even much to look at. It’s all dingy buildings smothered in a thick layer of smog. I think at this point I’d rather just walk, but of course Lamb insisted we get as close as we can to the passenger entry point. The car jolts to a stop and before I can open the door, it’s opened for me, followed by a “darling” and a hand outstretched for me to take. I almost ignore his gesture entirely until my father casts a pointed glance at me.</p>
<p>I take his hand and step out from the car without a word.</p>
<p>“I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s just about as big as the Mauretania.” I comment.</p>
<p>“You can be blasé about some things, Basil. But not about the Titanic. It’s much larger than Mauretania and <em> far </em> more luxurious.” Lamb takes my hand in his and I try not to wretch it away from his grip. I hate it when he touches me without permission. Though if I had any say, he wouldn’t get the opportunity to touch me in any way.</p>
<p>“Your step-son is far too difficult to impress, Daphne.”</p>
<p>“Yes, he is indeed.” She shoots me a small smile and I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes at her. I am not difficult to impress. It's just that there is hardly anything so impressive to be impressed about. It’s just a ship. “So, this is the ship said to be unsinkable.”</p>
<p>“Well it is. Not even god himself could sink this ship.” Lamb insists. Though, that’s a little preposterous if you ask me. Anything made of metal floating in the water has the possibility of sinking. I think maybe I’d actually like it to sink. Then maybe the ship would never make it to America where my wedding is waiting for me.</p>
<p>Eventually Lamb pays off the man who helps with our baggage and we’re on our way.</p>
<p>Every step I take onto the boarding plank feels weighted, like I’m dragging a metal ball from my ankle. </p>
<p>Everyone calls this ship the “ship of dreams”. But I don’t see the appeal.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>“Pen, you’re crazy. You bet everything we have.” We’re sitting around a table in a crowded pub. It’s noisy and smells of fish and stale sweat. Each of us with five dingy cards in our hands that are nearly falling apart. Two third class tickets on the RMS Titanic sit under what little coin we found in our pockets.</p>
<p>Penny has this crazy idea in her head that by going to America we could start over somehow. Here, we’re nothing. She says that the people there have way more opportunity. I didn’t see it when I lived there as a child, but she says the west coast is booming now. Her plan is to work our way across the country from east to west. The only problem was getting to America. So of course, when we saw these two men with tickets on the RMS Titanic, she slapped down a deck of cards and challenged them to a game of poker.</p>
<p>“We didn’t have much anyway, we’ve got nothing to lose.” She whispers back. The other two at the table are speaking rapid Swedish between each other. I’ve no idea what they’re saying but they seem nervous. Maybe we do have a chance after all.</p>
<p>I pick another card from the table and come up with nothing. Not even a pair. Well, there go our chances.</p>
<p>“Alright boys, moment of truth. Simon?”</p>
<p>I fold. “Nothing.” She doesn’t seem phased though, she’s gotta be up to something.</p>
<p>“Rhys?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head. “Nothing.”</p>
<p>“Gareth?”</p>
<p>He looks between me and Penny before laying his cards out for us to see. He’s got one jack, one five, one nine, and two threes.</p>
<p>“A pair.” Penny gasps. “That’s quite the hand you’ve got.” She sighs looking forlornly at her cards. I can’t believe she got us into this mess. I nudge her and she glances at me with a small smirk before laying down her cards. “Too bad it won’t be enough to beat this full house.”</p>
<p>The two across from us break out in heated Swedish, throwing curses at each other. All the while I still haven’t been able to pick my jaw up from the floor.</p>
<p>“Si, you know what this means?” She reaches across the table, swipes the tickets, and shoves the loose coins into her bag.</p>
<p>“We’re going to America.” I grab the tickets from her in disbelief.</p>
<p>“We’re going to America!” She jumps up and pulls me with her, jumping and shouting in triumph.</p>
<p>“Nah mate.” The busboy interrupts and turns to point at the clock. “Titanic goes to America. In 5 minutes.”</p>
<p>“Bollocks, Simon. We gotta go.” Penny takes my hand and before I even have a chance to think, we’re sprinting across the docks, weaving through the crowds of people. We barely catch a glimpse at the ship as we race to the passenger entrance, but it’s huge. It towers over the crowds of people, so tall it blocks out the sun on the other side. I can hardly believe we’re about to go on it. It’s been the talk of the town for the past few months.</p>
<p>I’m waving the tickets and yelling for them to wait as they’re just about to close the door. “We’re passengers!”</p>
<p>“Have you been through the inspection queue?” He looks between Pen and I.</p>
<p>“Yes, of course.” We haven’t, but we haven’t got time to if we’re gonna make it on this ship. “Anyway, we don’t have lice. We’re Americans. Both of us.” Pen’s not American, but they don’t need to know that. And even though I was born here in London, I spent the majority of my childhood hopping between different care homes around New England and managed to pick up the accent. The man lets us through with a quick nod.</p>
<p>As soon as we’ve jumped across the boarding plank and onto the ship, it all becomes so much more real. I never thought I would be standing on something so huge and luxurious in all my life. I never thought that I would be standing here, leaning over the railing of the RMS Titanic, waving goodbye to crowds of strangers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>The staff make quick work of carrying our luggage into our suites, already pulling out the many art pieces I’ve brought with me. Good thing I did, the room is so bland. Just dark wood and gold pieces. Not a single color in sight. Not even a vase of flowers.</p>
<p>“I don’t know why you need so many, Basil. Who did all these odd-like paintings anyway? They aren’t very good.” Lamb has never been interested in art, though he insists on buying me the paintings anyway, claiming that as his excuse to be able to ridicule them as he pleases.</p>
<p>“Pablo Picasso. His works are actually quite magnificent.”</p>
<p>“Yes, ‘quite’.” His voice holds little sincerity as he holds up one of the paintings to inspect it. “I doubt he’ll amount to anything. Just a poor street artist if you ask me. At least they were cheap.”</p>
<p>I don’t bother arguing with him. It would displease my father who is in the other room, most likely in earshot. Not to mention, it’s a waste of breath.</p>
<p>Vera follows me into my bedroom with another painting. She sets it down against my vanity and goes to work moving my things from my bed to my dresser. I offer my help but she declines.</p>
<p>“Everything here smells so new.” She comments.</p>
<p>It does. It smells like freshly painted wood and clean linen. It’s a stark difference from my family’s house. It just smells like dust and worn carpet. As much as the maids try, there’s no ridding the house of generations and generations of wear. I’ll miss it.</p>
<p>“Indeed.”</p>
<p>She comes over to where I stand in front of my vanity and pulls my coat from my shoulders to hang it. “Just think Basil, when you crawl in between the sheets tonight, you’ll be the first.”</p>
<p>“Yes, indeed we will.” Lamb walks into the room with a brandy, swishing the liquid around the edges of the glass. Vera excuses herself when she sees him come in, though I wish she wouldn’t.</p>
<p>“What do you say, Basil darling?” He sets his glass down and comes up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist. “Will you join me in between the sheets tonight?”</p>
<p>I try not to tense when his lips start to trail the sides of my neck. I don’t say anything. When his hands start to move further down, I turn slowly away from him and excuse myself to unpack my things. I can tell it angers him but I guess I’ll deal with that later.</p>
<p>When the luggage is all sorted and unpacked, I’m dragged away for lunch. Everything about this ship is over the top. Pristine crystal glasses and china that’ve never been used sit atop each of the ebony tables in the indoor patio. Even the menus are crisp and untouched.</p>
<p>The waiters are going around taking everyone’s lunch orders. Plenty of the usual luxury options are available. Variations of duck, steak, and some intricate French dishes that pale in comparison to the real thing.</p>
<p>“She is the largest moving object made by man, in all of history.” Mr. Mage boasts. Davy Mage and his colleague are joining us for lunch. His colleague just so happens to also be my aunt’s new boyfriend. It’s my first time meeting him, but he’s one of her longest flings yet and there’s a part of me that hopes she’s actually found someone to settle down with. “And our master shipbuilder here, Nicodemus Petty, designed her from the keel plates up.”</p>
<p>“Well, sir. I may have gotten the designs in order, but the idea was Mr. Mage’s.” Mr. Petty argues politely.  I can sense an odd tension between Mage and his colleague. “He envisioned a vessel so large and luxurious, that its supremacy would never be tested. And here she is.”</p>
<p>The talk about the ship bores me. Men like Mage just want to have power. They want to be the center of attention. And no one is unkeen to give it to them. I take out a cigarette and light the end of it out of habit. When the smoke fills my lungs, it gives me a sense of peace, like it’s filling in all the empty spaces.</p>
<p>“You know I don’t like when you do that at the dining table, Basilton.” My father says under his breath. I roll my eyes and breath out the smoke, imagining all the weight on my shoulders being lifted, before it comes crashing back down as Lamb snatches the cig from between my fingers and puts it out against the table.</p>
<p>“He knows.” He gives me a pointed look before turning and ordering something for us to eat, not bothering to ask what I would’ve liked. I’m not that picky but it still bothers me.</p>
<p>“Are you gonna cut the meat for him too, Lamb?” Fiona speaks up from across the table, throwing an irritated look at my fiancé. I smile a bit at that. I’ve missed Fiona. She’s been travelling for the past few years with Nicodemus, so I’ve not gotten much of a chance to see her. His presence here is really the only reason she came along anyway. She tells me she cam because she wants to be there at my wedding but she and I both know that’s a lie. She hasn’t approved of Lamb since the beginning. “So who thought of the name Titanic anyway?”</p>
<p>They go back to their talk about the creation of the titanic. Something about the size and stability of the ship being conveyed and I can’t help but laugh.</p>
<p>“Mr. Mage, are you familiar with the works of Dr. Freud?” I speak up. Mr. Mage doesn’t answer but I continue anyway. “I would think that his ideas about the males’ preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.”</p>
<p>“Basilton!” My father scolds. Fiona and Nicodemus laugh behind their napkins. My father is still looking at me with murder in his eyes. A glare not unlike the one being cast at me from Mr. Mage himself.</p>
<p>I get up and excuse myself from the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>Penny has started talking to a boy on deck. I think his name is Shepard. He’s darker skinned, very handsome, and his loose white shirt is rolled up at his elbows to reveal sleeves of tattoos.</p>
<p>They’re making small talk on the bench next to me as I draw some of the people I spot on the deck. Right now I’m drawing a man and his daughter as they lean over the railing to watch the water. It’s a beautiful moment, really. The child’s face lights up as she spots a dolphin racing alongside the ship, and the man looks undeniably happy just to be holding his child as they watch the water below them.</p>
<p>As a child I longed for something like that. Sometimes I still do.</p>
<p>Eventually the boy Penny is talking to, excuses himself and then it’s just Pen and I again.</p>
<p>“So, Simon.” I put my mostly finished sketch down and put my charcoal back in my shirt pocket. “I heard some third-class passengers managed to claim a few pool tables in the community room below deck. Do you want to go check it out?”</p>
<p>I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. My response completely evaporates and every thought I had fizzles away.</p>
<p>There’s a man on the balcony behind Penny– a gorgeous man.</p>
<p>He’s got warm caramel skin that looks smooth to touch. He’s wearing a loose-fitting pink button-up. Most likely made from silk. There’s a cigarette between his lips. They look soft, but the corners are turned down in a scowl. His raven black hair forms a gentle widow’s peak and falls in waves on either side of his face. He looks like the definition of perfection. His eyes scan the deck below and land on me. His gaze shifts away, then back at me again and his scowl loosens just a bit.</p>
<p>“Hello? Earth to Simon?” Penny waves a hand in front of my face and my eyes flick back to her. She must have noticed my distraction because she then turns to look at the man on the balcony, who’s now looking the other way. She turns back to me with a smirk. “Someone caught your eye?”</p>
<p>The moment I flick my eyes back to the man, he’s got a taller man next to him, trying to put a hand on the small of the bloke’s back. The taller man is wearing a tightly fitted burgundy suit that probably costs way too much money. Who even wears a suit like that in the middle of the day? </p>
<p>“Don’t waste your time, Si. Blokes like that only care about one thing. Wealth. And just by the looks of them, I’d say he fits the type.”</p>
<p>I know she’s right. That’s usually how it is with first-class folk. They look all regal and larger than life but more often than not, they’re just bitter and self-centered. There’s something about the way the man carries himself, though. Something in the way he flinches away from the other man’s hand that begs for more. Something about the way his eyes landed on me and instead of turning away from the creepy homeless guy staring him down, he glanced back in curiosity.</p>
<p>“He seems different.”</p>
<p>“Different how?”</p>
<p>I shrug. I don’t know his story. I couldn’t say. For all I know, Penny could be right. He might just be like all the other wealthy men in the world. It’s not like I’ll see him again anyway. Though I would’ve liked an opportunity to draw him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>April 12th, 1912</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>BAZ</b>
</p>
<p>Tonight we’re in the dining hall. Lamb is wearing an ugly green suit with a light grey button up beneath it. He tried to wear the suit with a burgundy undershirt but I was not having it. I shoved the grey one against his chest and told him to wear it even though that color suit could hardly be saved. He’s got no taste.</p>
<p>Everyone around us is talking and eating, never at the same time, but all at once. I make small commentaries where needed but they never really hear me anyway. Figures. Lamb takes my hand on the table and I let him.</p>
<p>My life is a never-ending cycle of parties and cotillions. Always the same narrow-minded people, the same mindless chatter. It’s all politics and hypocritical gossip. It was never like this when mother was around. Most conversations with her were usually meaningful. Usually about literature, and occasionally about philosophy. She would be so disappointed in what this family has become.</p>
<p>She died in a fire when I was ten years old. She went back in the building to save me but didn’t make it out herself. A beam fell and she got stuck. The flames were engulfing us, licking at our ankles and pushing smoke in our lungs, and she told me to run. So out of fear, I did. It’s pretty much my fault she died. And for what?</p>
<p>My father thinks he’s doing what’s best for me, and what’s best for our family. But I know this isn’t what my mother would’ve wanted for me. She would’ve wanted me to see the world like we talked about. And I have, in the literal sense. But it’s all the same. It’s the same party, the same dinner. Over and over again. The parties in Paris were the same as the parties in London.</p>
<p>At first it was okay. My father was running out of money and marrying Daphne didn’t help the situation.</p>
<p>At first the idea wasn’t to marry me away. He wanted me to go into politics, to do something that made a lot of money. I refused. My passion is literature, like my mother, but he wouldn’t accept that. He also took my preference in lovers quite well, saying that rich men were easier to come by than women. And as soon as he found a man who fit the requirements, he set me up with him.</p>
<p>Now, I’m weighted down by this silver band on my finger. I’m thinking maybe I should’ve stuck with his first idea.</p>
<p>My life is passing right in front of me and it feels like I’m not even a part of it. It feels like I’m on this great precipice, screaming out, and no one hears me. No one glances my way, and no one cares enough to pull me back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>The skies over the Titanic are so clear. The stars are twinkling bright and I can almost make out the arm of the milky way sweeping across the sky. I’ve always had a fascination with stars. No matter where I ended up, the stars were a constant presence. Never yielding.</p>
<p>Each of them have their own stories. Not just the constellations, but the stars themselves. They’ve seen so much time pass by before them. They’ve watched all the generations before us grow and die.</p>
<p>I used to try to count them on the nights I couldn’t sleep. I would sneak into the night, lay there, and count.</p>
<p>The ship is quiet save for a few couples sharing quiet conversations under the blanket of the night sky. Penny turned in early but tonight seems to be one of those sleepless nights. Though out here, it’s so peaceful, I almost find myself dozing off.</p>
<p>That is, until I hear the sound of hurried shoes clicking across the deck. I shoot up to see who it is and I feel the air leave my body. It’s the man from before. The beautiful man from the balcony.</p>
<p>He’s stopped running and now he’s leaning against the railing at the back of the ship, relatively close to the bench I’d been laying on.</p>
<p>I don’t think before getting up and walking closer. I can see him gasping, his shoulders rising and falling under his suit. The suit he’s wearing is absolutely ridiculous. Both the blazer and the pants have a floral print of pink and gold flowers, and yet somehow, it still looks good on him. I can tell his hair had been slicked back, but now it's starting to come out of place. A few wavy strands falling out in front of his face, likely from running.</p>
<p>He pulls himself up and over the railing so that he’s standing facing the water on the other side, still breathing heavily. That’s when I realize what he’s going to do.</p>
<p>“Don’t do it.” I shout over the wind and rushing water.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” He snaps, but it doesn’t hold as much malice as I think he intended it.</p>
<p>“Don’t do it.” I repeat, taking two steps closer. Now I can clearly see the tear tracks drying on his face. His eyes are rimmed red. And somehow he still looks pretty.</p>
<p>“Don’t come any closer.” He warns. I don’t listen. My heart is pounding.</p>
<p>“Come on, mate.” I step closer, reaching out my hand. “Just take my hand. I’ll pull you back over.”</p>
<p>“No.” His head snaps back to look at the water. “I have to do this. Just go away.”</p>
<p>His face screws up. He looks frustrated. With himself or me I’m not really sure (probably both), but I can’t just let him jump.</p>
<p>“I can’t. I’m involved now. If you jump off this ship, I’m going to have to jump in after you.” I really hope he doesn’t take me up on my offer, but I’m not kidding. I start to take my boots and jacket off just in case I have to go for a swim, and maybe also to convince him I’m being serious.</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous. You’d be killed.”</p>
<p>I want to shoot back that he would be too if he jumped, but I guess that’s the point, and saying so wouldn’t make the situation any better. “I’m a good swimmer.” I say instead.</p>
<p>“The fall alone would kill you, idiot.” He sneers.</p>
<p>Maybe it would, but I would still jump if it meant I could potentially save his life. Though I’m not sure what would happen if we both went overboard. Hope that someone was watching and they decide to lower a boat or something to pull us back up? That’d be a lot of trouble for two blokes who voluntarily jumped overboard, one being a penniless orphan no less. Though the man I saw with balcony bloke the other day seemed like he might care a great deal if this man were to fall overboard. I bet he’d have lots of people wanting to save him. “Well I’m not saying it wouldn’t hurt, but I’m more concerned about how cold that water is.”</p>
<p>He scoffs. “How cold?”</p>
<p>“Freezing. Maybe a couple degrees over.” He looks between me and the water again. He doesn’t look like he believes me. “Water like that, it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. I would know. Fell into freezing water like that ice fishin’ once when I was younger. It was not a great experience, trust me.”</p>
<p>He’s breathing heavy again, more tears fall down his face. He looks so fragile, like glass, one crack away from shattering.</p>
<p>I put my hand over his on the rail and he gasps. I’m afraid maybe I’ve overstepped, but I don’t want to pull my hand away. The touch feels electric. His hand is cold but soft, and I can feel the quickening pulse on his wrist.</p>
<p>He turns to look at me and for the first time I can see his eyes clearly. They’re pools of black and grey and pain. So much pain. It doesn’t look right.</p>
<p>“I guess I’m kind of hoping you’ll let me off the hook here.”</p>
<p>He looks down at my hand on his. He doesn’t speak. His eyes dart between my hand and the water and finally they settle on my hand. He nods hesitantly.</p>
<p>“Okay.” He turns to face me, using my hand and the railing for support. I can’t stop myself from smiling, I’m so relieved.</p>
<p>“I’m Simon Snow. What’s your name?”</p>
<p>“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”</p>
<p>“I’m uh- gonna have to get you to write that one down.” He scoffs but I see the hint of a smile on his lips.</p>
<p>“You can just call me Baz.”</p>
<p>“Okay, Baz.” I smile. “Let’s get you back over this railing, yeah?”</p>
<p>He nods and let’s go of my hand, using the railing to pull himself back over. I stand there just in case, holding onto his arms. I can tell he’s incredibly toned beneath his suit. Which is surprising because he’s so lanky and thin you wouldn’t think he could have much muscle at all.</p>
<p>His landing is <em> almost </em> graceful until he takes the last step over. His foot lands on mine and I fall backwards, taking him with me. We turn as we fall and land in a heap on the ground with him beneath me. I hear him groan under my weight.</p>
<p>“What’s going on here?”</p>
<p>Shit.</p>
<p>“Get off my fiancé.” Before I can even get up, I’m shoved off of Baz and a fist is colliding with my face. The pain of it only comes a few second later when my vision clears</p>
<p>“Hey!” Someone yells. I think it’s Baz.</p>
<p>Before I know it, the man (Baz’s <em> fiancé </em> I suppose) is being pulled off of me.</p>
<p>His face looks like someone ran it under the chisel a few too many times. His hair is this auburn color that doesn’t match his murky brown eyes in the slightest. And, it has way too much product in it.</p>
<p>“What is the meaning of this?” He yells, now his fury is pointed towards Baz. We must have made a scene because another man who looks like some sort of policeman comes up behind Baz’s fiancé to inspect the situation.</p>
<p>“Lamb, cut it out. This man saved my life.” Baz’s fiancé (Lamb) looks between me and Baz with a furious gaze. “I was leaning over the railing and almost fell. Simon pulled me back over and almost went over himself.”</p>
<p>Lamb seems to be looking between me and the pile of my clothes I discarded earlier. I can see how this looks bad. But Baz has given me an out. He’s given me <em> more </em> than an out. He made it sound downright heroic. Or maybe he’s given <em> himself </em> an out. Either way I’ll take it.</p>
<p>“Was that the way of it?”</p>
<p>“Y-yes sir. That’s exactly what happened.” I try to sound confident in the answer but end up stumbling over my words. Bollocks.</p>
<p>“Well, it sounds like the boy’s a hero then!” The other man comes up and pats Lamb on the shoulder. “He should be awarded.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” Lamb sighs. He reaches into his suit pocket and reluctantly produces some bills. “I think a twenty should do it.”</p>
<p>“A twenty for saving the man that you love?” Baz speaks up, all posh sounding and confident. A stark contrast to the man I just talked to hanging off the side of the ship.</p>
<p>“Ah, Basil is unhappy. What to do…” Lamb walks over to me and looks me up and down, surveying me like a hawk circling its prey. “Ah, how about you join us for dinner tomorrow night? There you can recount to us all your heroic tale.”</p>
<p>“Oh, uh- sure.”</p>
<p>“Good. It’s settled then.” He smiles at me and shakes my hand. It’s a little unsettling considering this is the hand that just made a go at my face, which is probably either bruised or bleeding, I can’t really tell.</p>
<p>Before he’s ushered away, I meet Baz’s eyes over Lamb’s shoulder. At least I’ll get to see him one more time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. i can't be saved</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is accidentally super long but I know you guys probably won't complain ;) I was going to post this on Thursday but I wanted to at least get the second chapter out.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>Ever since I got back to my room, I can’t get him out of my head. His blue eyes, his bronze curls, his freckles, his dopey smile. He was gorgeous, blindingly so. I saw him before, I think. When I retreated from the dining area. He was staring at me. I wasn’t sure he was at first, but I looked at him again and he was still looking at me, completely unabashed. I thought he was fit then, but I completely underestimated how fit he really was. I can’t get over the way he held my hand on the railing and how just that simple touch alone set my heart on fire.</p>
<p>I know I shouldn’t be thinking about him. I have a fiancé, and he’s sitting in the next room. But I can’t help it. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Him and his warm tawny skin. Him and his freckles that cover his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. I think I'd like to count them one day.</p>
<p>
  <em>One day?</em>
</p>
<p>God, I don’t even know if he likes men. He’s probably a heterosexual, which is good because then it won’t matter. Nothing could ever come of it regardless.</p>
<p>I grab a book from the table and turn it to where I left off on it earlier. I need a distraction.</p>
<p>At least after tomorrow night, I’ll never have to see him again. And I can go about my life.</p>
<p>“Darling.”</p>
<p>Speaking of getting back to my life– Lamb comes to sit next to me and I put the book down a little too hard against the table. I wasn’t going to be able to focus on it anyway.</p>
<p>“You’ve been melancholy.”</p>
<p>I don’t know where he’s going with this but I really don’t want to talk to him.</p>
<p>“Why do you care?” I'm careful to keep the anger out of my voice.</p>
<p>“You’re my fiancé.” He says like that’s a good enough reason. I scoff.</p>
<p>“I won’t pretend to know why you’ve been feeling this way,” he continues.</p>
<p>
  <em> So why don’t you ask? </em>
</p>
<p>“I was going to wait until our engagement gala to give this to you, but I figured tonight...” He trails off as he pulls out a flat box from behind his back and opens it towards me. “Perhaps as a reminder of my feelings for you.” I don’t miss the way he says the word ‘feelings’ with a slight hesitation.</p>
<p>It’s a necklace. It’s beautiful. There’s a large blue gemstone in the middle and I try so hard not to think about the fact that in the light it’s almost the same color as Simon’s eyes. <em> Pathetic. </em></p>
<p>“Is that a-”</p>
<p>“Diamond? Yes.” He gets up and goes around the back of the couch, taking the necklace and draping it around my neck. It’s heavy, weighing me down. “Fifty-six carats to be exact. It was worn by Louis XVI and they called it ‘Le Coeur de la Mer’.”</p>
<p>“The heart of the ocean,” I translate.</p>
<p>“Yes.” He takes my handheld mirror from my nightstand and holds it in front of me.</p>
<p>“It’s overwhelming.”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s for royalty.” He says matter-of-factly. “We are royalty, Basil.”</p>
<p>I wish he wouldn’t say that. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t born into money. Maybe my life would have been simpler. If my mother was still around...</p>
<p>“You know, there’s nothing I couldn’t give to you. There’s nothing I would deny you, if you would not deny me.” He puts down the mirror and takes my hand in his. “Open your heart to me, Basil.”</p>
<p>I want to say yes. I want to say I will, for my family’s sake. But the thing is, I don’t think I can. And I don’t think I ever will.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>April 13th, 1912</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>SIMON</b>
</p>
<p>Everyone on the ship is so relaxed. There are people laying back in chairs, leaning over the railing laughing carelessly with their lovers. Even Penny’s found a group to hang out with. They’re playing a card game as they sit around in a circle on the deck. I was invited but opted to sit off to the side and draw.</p>
<p>I just haven’t been able to relax since we got here. It’s been a while since we’ve had a place to stay for so long. This trip is supposed to last a whole week. One place for one week. No running. It’s weird, so obviously I’m a little on edge. Waiting for someone to throw me overboard for whatever reason. For winning our tickets in gambling, for saving Baz’s life, for just existing. All the rich people give me dirty looks from their section every time I walk across the deck below. They make a whole ordeal out of it, scrunch their noses up in disgust and everything.</p>
<p>I’ve got my sketchbook in my lap and it helps. I’m drawing Penny and her new friends. It’s a nice moment. They're all smiling and laughing. Penny looks over to check on me every once in a while. Each time they play a new round Penny asks if I want to join. I smile and shake my head.</p>
<p>I don’t usually draw my friends. I’ve drawn Pen and her ex-boyfriend once because she had asked me too, but had me burn it when they broke up. (And I did so, gladly.)</p>
<p>I think the boy sitting next to her, Shepard, really likes her. He keeps leaning into her space and laughing at everything she says, and she doesn’t seem to mind so I guess she likes him too.</p>
<p>I’ve just about finished my sketch when a shadow casts over my sketchbook. I thought maybe it was just a passenger trying to scoot by me so I move my legs in without looking up. But then the shadow doesn’t move, and I’m just about to politely ask whoever it is to move, but when I look up, the words die in my throat.</p>
<p>Light grey eyes are staring down at me. Or more precisely, staring down at my sketchbook.</p>
<p>I close my book and shove my charcoal in my pocket. That seems to snap him out of it. “Hey.”</p>
<p>“Hey.” He looks nervous. It’s a weird look for someone so posh and confident-looking. Today he’s wearing a lilac button up with little white flowers patterned across it with an open black vest over top. He dresses very differently from the rest of first class, I’ve noticed. But it makes him look just as posh. “Would you like to take a walk around the deck with me?”</p>
<p>“Oh. I- Uh….” I trail off. I look over to Penny in panic and she catches my glance. When she sees who I’m talking to, she gives me an encouraging smile. I told her about what happened last night. Not everything. Not why it happened. But she’s surprisingly okay about Baz now. I think she’s still skeptical, but she always is. Honestly, I’m glad she is. Otherwise, I probably would get into a lot more trouble than I already do.</p>
<p>She winks at me. And I try not to roll my eyes at her before turning my glance back to Baz. “Yeah, sure.” I get up with my sketchbook under my arm and follow him across the deck.</p>
<p>For a little while, we just walk in silence. I look over at him and am relieved to find him looking out at the sea instead of back at me. It gives me a chance to really look at him up close. He’s truly beautiful. It’s probably creepy how much I like looking at him. I follow the lines of his face.. His strong nose, down to his soft lips.</p>
<p>“I wanted to thank you.” He says suddenly.</p>
<p>“For what?”</p>
<p>“For saving my life. And for your… discrepancy.” </p>
<p>“Oh- uh. You don’t have to thank me.”</p>
<p>“Well I am.” He snaps.</p>
<p>“Okay, then. You’re welcome.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>He’s been staring at me. I haven’t looked, but I can feel his gaze burning into my skin. He’s probably trying to figure out why a rich bloke like me would attempt to do something like what I pulled last night. I honestly don’t know what came over me. It just got too much and I had to <em> do </em> something. I had to take control of my life in some way. I definitely didn’t anticipate for anyone to come after me to stop me. And yet, he managed to snap me out of it, with his dumb words and warm hands.</p>
<p>I didn’t actually <em> mean </em> to find him. But I won’t deny that I had come to the lower deck with him in mind. I think I was subconsciously seeking him out but just didn’t want to admit it. And when I did find him, he was drawing. It was magnificent. Some of the best work I’ve seen.</p>
<p>“You draw?”</p>
<p>“Uh- yeah. I do. Sorta.” He brings his sketchbook to his chest, fidgeting with the edges of it. The leather on the outside of it looks worn, probably from many years of use. It looks like nice quality, though I don’t know much about sketchbooks. I wonder how much it cost him.</p>
<p>“Can I see?” He nods and goes to sit down on an empty bench. I follow him. He flips the sketchbook open between us and starts flipping through the pages. There’s so much warmth in the moments he’s drawn. Father and daughter, mother and son, whole families, friends and lovers laughing and holding hands. How such emotion can be conveyed through charcoal alone is beyond me. “You draw a lot of families.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I guess I just have an appreciation for them.”</p>
<p>“Did your family come with you here?” I haven’t seen them. The first time I saw him off that balcony he was just with that girl. I wonder if she’s his girlfriend. He shakes his head.</p>
<p>“I uh- don’t really have a family. I mean, I guess I have Penny. She’s like a sister to me. But I never knew my parents. I grew up in different orphanages around the country.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”</p>
<p>“It’s alright, actually. I’ve never really known anything different.” He shrugs and looks back at me. “What about you? Did you come here with your family?”</p>
<p>“Unfortunately.” It comes out before I can stop myself. It’s probably an insensitive thing to say, but it’s true.</p>
<p>If only I <em> hadn’t </em> come with my family. If I was just going to America by myself. No father, no Lamb, no fancy dinner parties. I would probably miss Fiona and Daphne though, and my younger siblings.</p>
<p>“Why do you say that?”</p>
<p>“We just… have our differences.”</p>
<p>“Does it have anything to do with last night?” My heart stops. I should’ve known he’d ask. He seems like the nosy type. Maybe this was a bad idea.</p>
<p>“That’s really none of your business.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t it? I saved your life. Shouldn’t I know why?” I scoff. Just because he pulled me back from the railing does not mean I owe him my life story. And the fact that he pushed for more information after I told him that it’s none of his business. But I guess, he <em> is </em> the only one who’s actually ever cared to ask. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. You don’t owe me an explanation, of course. I just-”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Pardon?” He scrunches his eyebrows in confusion and I can’t help but think about how cute it is. <em> Dammit. </em></p>
<p>“Yes, it had to do with my family. But it wasn’t <em> just </em> my family. It’s just my <em> life </em>in general.”</p>
<p>He sits quietly, waiting for me to elaborate. I don’t know what I’m doing.</p>
<p>“It just felt like everyone was making these decisions for me and I was just sitting back watching my life pass in front of me, and I felt powerless to stop it.” I fiddle with the ring on my finger. It’s a constant reminder of everything wrong in my life. I don’t know why I told him all this. But as soon as I started, I couldn’t stop myself.</p>
<p>“Lamb,” he says suddenly. “You’re to marry him right?”</p>
<p>I nod.</p>
<p>“Well, no offense, but he’s kind of an asshole.”<br/>“Yeah,” I laugh. “He kinda is.”</p>
<p>I think he wants to say something more. He looked like he was about to but then stopped himself. I need to divert the topic before it gets too personal.</p>
<p>“Can I see more of your work?” I reach my hand out to the sketchbook in his lap. He smiles softly and hands it to me. Our fingers brush and I pretend not to flinch at the sparks the touch leaves behind on my skin.</p>
<p>“Yeah, of course.”</p>
<p>I flip through the pages more. After a while the families start turning into portraits. A large variety of people. Young and old, rich and poor. Each one conveys a different emotion but they’re all marked with the same messy signature in the bottom corner.</p>
<p>“Oh,” I turn the page and there’s a naked woman draped across a sofa staring at me. “I didn’t know you drew this kind of thing, Snow.”</p>
<p>“Well, uh…” He’s blushing all the way down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.</p>
<p>“Don’t be embarrassed. If you’re going to draw like this then you may as well embrace it.” I flip through. Even though I’m not attracted to the female figure, his drawings are quite beautiful. (I’m homosexual, not blind). I guess that answers my question as to which way he swings, not that that’s important.</p>
<p>But then, I turn the page and there’s naked men staring at me too, so maybe I was wrong to assume.</p>
<p>“Oh– I, uh...” he stutters and takes the sketchbook from my hands, putting it back in his own lap. “That’s uh- nothing.”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing wrong with it, Snow. I actually find your drawings quite beautiful.” He’s still got his face turned away from me. “Were they drawn from life?”</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah.” He turns back towards me, hand coming up to rub at his neck. “In Paris, there’s a lot of men and women willing to take their clothes off.”</p>
<p>“Ah, Paris. The city of lovers.” I smirk at him. “Did you have any lovers? You drew this man here quite a lot. Perhaps a secret love affair, Snow?”</p>
<p>Simon laughs nervously. “Oh uh, no, nothing like that. You see, he just had really nice eyes. Liked drawing them.”</p>
<p>I let the subject go, as much as I want to tease him, and ask to look through the rest of his sketchbook. A few pages away from the more scandalous drawings, lays a drawing of a small woman and some goats. It’s not attached to the sketchbook, it looks like he’s just stuck it in here. The page is creased and looks more worn than the rest of the pages.</p>
<p>“That’s Ebb.” He points to the woman’s face. His fingers are smudged with grey from the charcoal he was using earlier. “She took me in for a while when I left the system.”</p>
<p>The woman’s face is soft, slightly wrinkled to show age. She has the most peaceful look in her eyes as she’s petting the goat. “You drew her crying.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, she did that a lot– cried. Said it’s good for you.” He smiles. “She cried when she was happy, when she was sad. I think she was lonely. But, I was too, so I guess it kind of worked out.” He smiles sadly and shakes his head. His curls bounce with the motion. He’s a piece of art himself and he doesn’t even know it.</p>
<p>“You know, your art really is beautiful, Snow.” He smiles at me and my heart skips a beat. I think, if given the opportunity, I would make sure that smile never left his face.</p>
<p>“It’s Simon.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>We spend the rest of the afternoon talking. Or, more like I talk and Baz listens with a few comments here and there. I end up telling him countless stories of my time in the orphanages and with foster families. I don’t think either of us meant to spend the whole day talking with each other. Even though he can be a bit of a prat from time to time, I don’t mind it one bit. We walked back towards where I left Penny at one point, but she had left by then. She probably went back to our room or off somewhere with her lover boy.</p>
<p>Baz is very different from what I expected. Every other upper class man I’ve ever met has treated me with the same respect one would have for a bug, or a pest. Like I’m nothing to be bothered with. But Baz… he doesn’t do that. He listens to me talk and asks questions. He actually takes an interest in me. He doesn’t talk much about himself and when I try to ask him questions, he answers them with vague remarks and steers the conversation away from him. I see the same sadness in his eyes as I did that night. I don’t think he likes talking about his life very much, so I settle for basically giving him my entire life story.</p>
<p>It’s nearly sunset now and the orange hues of the sky cast the ship in a warm tint. We’ve been walking around the deck now for nearly three hours. Eventually we ended up walking around the first-class deck, but no one says anything to me since Baz is walking alongside me. He has enough poshness for the both of us.</p>
<p>We stopped talking some time ago, content to keep each other company in a comfortable silence. I don’t think either of us really wants to leave, or knows how to.</p>
<p>Ahead, I see the stairs that lead to the lower areas of the decks. And with the stairs, there are two sets of railing. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.</p>
<p>I hop on the rail and slide my way down to the lower deck, the sun has made the metal railing hot and I feel it burning my skin through the fabric of my pants.. When I hop off at the first section break, I look back to see Baz staring down at me with a frown. “Come on!”</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not sliding down a rail like some child.”</p>
<p>“Oh, come on, you prat.” I cross my arms. “No one’s gonna know. It’s fun!”</p>
<p>He’s still frowning at me.</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me you’ve never slid down a rail before.”</p>
<p>He scoffs. “Never. I’m not an animal. I take the stairs, like a normal person.”</p>
<p>“More like a <em> boring </em> person. Come on!”</p>
<p>He sighs and shakes his head. I know I’ve won. He climbs onto the rail hesitantly and starts sliding down it. At first he doesn’t go too fast, still holding onto the rail slightly. But then he let’s go and he slides faster towards me. I step back so I’m not in his way but even when he does land, he stumbles forward into me, laughing. I haven’t heard him laugh before. A few soft chuckles when I’d make a joke or tell an embarrassing story, but never like this. The way he clutches my shoulders and laughs into my chest does something weird to my stomach.</p>
<p>I think he realizes what he’s doing soon after though and let’s go of my shoulders, clearing his throat. As much as he tries to hide it, I can still see the small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Race you down the next one?”</p>
<p>“You’re on.” There’s a challenging gleam in his eyes as he sits himself atop the second rail. I follow and hop on the one parallel to it.</p>
<p>“Ready?” He nods. “Go!”</p>
<p>We both let go. This one’s a longer rail. I pull ahead of him slightly, but I can still hear him laughing. When I reach the bottom, I lose my footing and roll myself across the floor. I hear Baz land behind me with an oof.</p>
<p>I’m still laughing from the adrenaline when I look back and realize that Baz has knocked someone else over in his landing. Said person is <em> not l </em>aughing.</p>
<p>I scramble to my feet and right my clothes.</p>
<p>“Father.” Baz says as he gets to his feet. He offers a hand out to the man (his father) but he rejects the help and stands up on his own, brushing off his suit.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to hear it.” His glare turns to me and looks me up and down. “What is vermin like you doing here? Don’t you belong on the lower deck?”</p>
<p>I bristle at that but hold my tongue.</p>
<p>“Father, this is the man who saved my life.” Baz steps between us.</p>
<p>His father scoffs and looks back over his shoulder at me. “Charmed.”</p>
<p>“Oh, come on Malcolm. He saved your boy’s life.” A woman who looks an awful lot like Baz cuts in. She has warm tan skin and black hair with a silver streak running through it. I think I like her.</p>
<p>“Yes, and I’ve heard the debt has already been repaid. There’s no need for Basil to go frolocking off with him.” </p>
<p>“Sir,” I speak up without thinking. “With all due respect, Baz is his own person. He can choose who he wants to talk to and spend time with.”</p>
<p>He shoves past Baz and stops just in front of me. “This may be hard for you to understand, boy, but my son has a duty to his family. He is to be married and he will not be seen fraternizing with street rats like you. He has an image to uphold.” He turns back to Baz. “Come on, Basil. It’s time to go dress for dinner.”</p>
<p>I can’t help but watch as Baz gets escorted away from me. Part of me was hoping he’d glance back at me, but he doesn’t.</p>
<p>“Kid.” I startle at the sound of someone’s voice next to me.</p>
<p>“Sorry?” It’s the black-haired woman who looks like Baz.</p>
<p>“Do you have the slightest idea what you’re doing?”</p>
<p>“Uh… not really.” I’m not really sure what she means, but I’m going to assume she means something about Baz.</p>
<p>“Tsk. What are you wearing tonight?”</p>
<p>I shrug, gesturing to what I have on. I didn’t really bring anything else. I didn’t plan on going to a fancy rich people dinner. I didn’t really plan on boarding this ship at all.</p>
<p>She sighs and shakes her head, a gesture I’ve seen Baz mimic many times. “I figured. Come on.” She starts walking and I follow. Eventually we end up in a room that looks a <em> whole lot </em> fancier than mine. The walls and ceilings are adorned with golden trims. The furniture is smooth and shiny like it’s barely been used. I wouldn’t doubt the pieces had been made specifically for this ship. I feel completely out of place. My thin worn clothes that haven’t been washed for the past two days suddenly feel dirtier. I can feel the holes in my shoes shifting under my foot.</p>
<p>“Hey, I don’t even know your name, or who you are. I mean, I assume you’re related to Baz, since you two look kind of alike and-”</p>
<p>“Fiona Pitch.” She interrupts. “I’m his Aunt. Now put this on.” She shoves a suit at me and ushers me behind a screen. </p>
<p>I look down at the pieces in my hands. It’s a three piece suit. Black and white, plain and simple, save for the small gold pins clipped at the lapels.</p>
<p>Once I’ve put the suit on, with a little bit of difficulty, I step back into the room. There’s a tall mirror there so I go to stand in front of it. I think this is the fanciest thing I’ve ever worn.</p>
<p>“I was right.” The woman, Fiona, comes up behind me and pats me on the back. “You and my nephew are just about the same size. Maybe a little tight around the shoulders and the sleeves are a bit short, but it’s not too bad.”</p>
<p>I adjust the collar that’s pulled tight around my neck. I don’t know how people wear these things, it is extremely uncomfortable. But I will admit, the whole fancy outfit thing makes me feel pretty powerful.</p>
<p>“Come on, let’s get you down there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Walking into the dining area is a little overwhelming. There’s so many people, all dressed up. I wonder if this is what they do every night. It must be exhausting.</p>
<p>I don’t really know how to act. If I felt out of place just being in a first-class suite, I definitely feel out of place among all the first-class passengers. Most of the men have their hair slicked back, but I’ve just left my curls to fall in front of my face. I feel like everyone must be staring at me. I’m kind of surprised I was let through the door with no hesitation. I guess the suit really does grant me power. As long as you act like you belong, no one knows the difference.</p>
<p>Fiona left me once we got through the door. She said she had to go find someone, but assured me Baz would be here soon.</p>
<p>I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do until then.</p>
<p>There are couples everywhere. Most are conversing with other couples, exchanging pleasantries and whatnot. But they don’t seem real. They’re all made up. In the way they dress, in the way they smile.</p>
<p>Many of these men are significantly older than the female they’ve chosen to accompany. My guess is that it has to do with money. Most of these people don’t marry for love, they marry for business. That’s probably why Baz is marrying Lamb. Though, I can’t see Baz agreeing to that kind of thing. I know for a fact that he doesn’t want to. So why?</p>
<p>As if on cue, I see Lamb walking down the stairs, in all his posh glory. I look around to see if Baz is with him, but I don’t see him. He’s walking with a woman who I think might be Baz’s stepmother. She has fair skin and light brown hair.</p>
<p>I step forward to greet them, but they don’t even notice me. It’s like I’m invisible. They simply turn and walk down the hall. I thought at least Lamb would have seen me. I could’ve sworn he looked right at me for a second.</p>
<p>Now I don’t really know what to do. Should I follow them? Maybe Baz was already in the dining room, and I’m just standing and waiting like an idiot.</p>
<p>Just as I’m about to start walking, I catch a glimpse of black hair out of the corner of my eye. It really could have been anyone but somehow I just knew.</p>
<p>When I see him I have to do a double-take.</p>
<p>He’s stunning, as usual. He’s wearing a suit just like mine, except his has a flowery navy blue pattern layered over the black. I almost laugh at how ridiculous he looks among all of the men who’ve just worn a plain black suit. It suits him though. I think he has an affinity for flowery patterns (and for sticking out among crowds).</p>
<p>His hair is slicked back too. I think I prefer it loose, but at least I can see more of his face this way.</p>
<p>I need to stop thinking about him like that. He has a fiancé, and I was already warned off by his father. This is probably the last night I’ll see him anyway, so there’s no point in getting my hopes up.</p>
<p>“Hey.” He’s standing in front of me now. He smells like something sharp. Cedar and bergamot.</p>
<p>“Hey.” I extend my hand out to him in greeting, but instead of shaking it, he takes it and brings it up to his mouth. My face suddenly feels very warm.</p>
<p>“You’re wearing my suit.” He whispers. I feel his breath across my knuckles.</p>
<p>He lowers my hand then, but doesn’t let go.</p>
<p>“I- Uh… Yeah. I guess I am?”</p>
<p>He reaches his hand up to the gold pins on my lapels and it’s only then I realize they kind of resemble tiny snowflakes.</p>
<p>“Fitting.” He smirks, echoing my thoughts. “Shall we?”</p>
<p>I can’t seem to find my voice so I just nod as he leads us into the dining room.</p>
<p>When we step through the oversized doors he lets go of my hand. I almost reach out to grab it again but think better of it. </p>
<p>Lamb waves us over to the table and I feel Baz tense up next to me.</p>
<p>He takes a seat next to Lamb and I take the seat adjacent to him. Everyone’s already talking when we get there, though I’ve no idea what they’re talking about. I think I’ll just sit this one out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>I can tell he’s nervous. He’s been bouncing his knee since we’ve sat down. I want to steady it with my hand but I think that’d be too familiar. So I try to distract him instead. Good thing I have loads of useless gossip stored away in a far corner of my brain.</p>
<p>“Over there,” I gesture across the table with my champagne glass in my hand. I speak a little softer so I don’t interrupt the table’s conversation. “That’s the Countess of Rothes.”</p>
<p>He looks at me with a curious expression but I keep going.</p>
<p>“And that over there,” I gesture to the table across the room from us. “Is John Jacob Astor. He’s the richest man on board. His wife next to him can’t be much older than seventeen and in a delicate condition. See how she tries to hide it? Quite the scandal.”</p>
<p>Snow scoffs at that. He’s stopped shaking his leg now and he’s leaned a bit closer to me– the only good thing to come out of listening to upperclass gossip.</p>
<p>“And that over there is Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress. Mrs. Guggenheim is home with the children of course.” Snow rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>“And over on the left we have Sir Cosmo and Lucile, Lady Duff-Gordon. She designs naughty lingerie. Very popular with the royals and–”</p>
<p>“Mr. Snow, was it?” My father cuts in.</p>
<p>Simon fumbles. I don’t think he was expecting to be called on, though <em> I </em> might have suspected it. I just didn’t know he’d be called upon so soon in the conversation. “Uh, yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“Tell us about the accommodations in steerage. I’m very curious as I’ve heard they’re quite good here.” I know what my father’s game here is. He’s trying to put as much distance between our class and Simon’s as possible. It’s like he wants to make everyone acutely aware that Simon ‘doesn’t belong here’.</p>
<p>“Well, I don’t really have much to compare it to. But they’re quite good.” He clears his throat. “Hardly any rats.”</p>
<p>The whole table chuckles at that. I smile at him when he glances over at me. He’s handling my father well.</p>
<p>“Mr. Snow is joining us from third class.” Lamb adds. “He was of some assistance to my fiancé last night.”</p>
<p>The table nods in acknowledgement to Simon, then looks at me for further explanation. I don’t really want to talk about that night though.</p>
<p>“It turns out that Snow is actually quite a fine artist. He was kind enough to show me some of his work earlier today.” I raise my glass to him and he flushes a little. It’s a nice shade against his freckles.</p>
<p>“Well, Basil and I have quite a different opinion on ‘fine art’.” <em> Yeah, by differing opinions, you mean the fact that I have taste, and you don’t. </em> Lamb lifts his glass towards the server to refill his glass. “Not to impugn your work, sir.”</p>
<p>Simon shifts in his seat. “No, sir. Of course not.”</p>
<p>I can tell he was bothered by the comment, but he hides it well.</p>
<p>The waiter asks my order and I hear Simon next to me asking my aunt about the many utensils laid out on the sides of each plate. I chuckle a bit to myself. Of course he wouldn’t know the rules of a table. I can’t really blame him though. I’d probably wonder the same thing if I were in his position.</p>
<p>The rest of the dinner goes by without issue. For the most part, my family keeps to themselves and leaves Simon out of it. Daphne has started up a few conversations with him about his art and I get to watch as his face lights up talking to her about his work. Lamb keeps glaring at me whenever I try to talk to Simon instead of him, but I’m starting to care less and less about what him or my father thinks. They can glare all they want.</p>
<p>Simon is looking at me over his second plate of food and I give him a small smile. He’s like a bloody black hole. My family ordered a few plates for the table and he’s eaten most of them. He has crumbs dusted on the corners of his mouth and he doesn’t seem to notice so I clear my throat and gesture at his napkin. He picks it up and wipes his mouth sheepishly. I honestly didn’t mind, it was actually kind of charming. I’m disturbed, ask anyone. But I knew my father would make some kind of remark either to his face or to mine later, so really I’m saving him.</p>
<p>The dinner ends when the men at the table get up to go for a brandy and smoke. I’m invited, but I never liked those smoke rooms much, and I care even less for the politics. So I opt to stay with Daphne, Fiona and the others. Simon is invited too, but he turns it down. Politely, of course.</p>
<p>“It’s actually, uh– time for me to get back.”</p>
<p>I almost ask him to stay.</p>
<p>He walks over to me and takes my hand, just like I did to him before dinner. That had taken every ounce of courage I had, but it was worth it.</p>
<p>“Goodnight, Baz.” He brings my hand to his lips briefly before dropping it. Except, when he drops my hand, I find a piece of folded paper in its place.</p>
<p>I check to make sure no one’s watching me as I unfold it.</p>
<p>
  <em> Meet me at the clock. I’ll take you to a real party. </em>
</p>
<p>I can’t help the goofy grin that overtakes my face. That bastard.</p>
<p>I don’t leave right away. I feel that’d be too suspicious. So I stay a bit and talk with Daphne and the others before making an excuse to turn in for the night. Fiona casts me a knowing look and I think she might’ve had something to do with this.</p>
<p>By the time I’ve left, most of the other guests have cleared out and I fear maybe I stayed back too long. But then I reach the stairs and I see a head of golden curls and the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding escapes me.</p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>He looks surprised to see me. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”</p>
<p>“Well… maybe I wasn’t going to. Maybe I was just on my way back to my room and I just so happened to run into you on my way.”</p>
<p>His face drops. “Oh, sorry. Right, of course. That was silly of me to–”</p>
<p>“Simon,” I cut him off. “I wasn’t being serious. Of course I came because of your note.”</p>
<p>“Oh! You– wait– you called me Simon.” His face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning.</p>
<p>“No I most definitely did not.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you did! You definitely did!” He laughs. I think I want to kiss him.</p>
<p>“Are you going to take me to a real party or not, <em> Snow </em>?” I cross my arms.</p>
<p>“Yes!” He grabs my hand and pulls me with him. I can’t say I didn’t miss the feeling of his hand in mine.</p>
<p>He’s laughing and smiling the whole way there and I force myself to stop myself from smiling so much around him. He’s infectious.</p>
<p>I can tell we’re getting closer to wherever it is he’s taking me, because I can hear the music playing below the floorboards. When we get down the stairs to the level below deck, I’m blown away by the immense amount of energy in the room. It’s a lot to take in. There’s a band in the corner playing some kind of gaelic music and everyone in the room is either dancing or drinking. They all look so happy. This is nothing like the stiff, stuffy dinner ‘party’ I just sat through.</p>
<p>Simon takes off his coat (my coat) and unbuttons his collar. He throws it onto some chair where many other coats and jackets are laying, which is probably not the smartest place to put it, but honestly, I could care less what happens to it. I never wear that one and I have plenty of others.</p>
<p>He finds us an empty table and tells me to wait here. So I sit down and wait for him.</p>
<p>It smells like alcohol and smoke. But not like the smoking rooms men go to talk politics. Those rooms smell stale and dead. This room smells alive. It feels alive. There are men and women dancing all around the room. Well, it’s hardly what one would call ‘dancing’. More like, jumping and spinning. I can’t seem to figure out what pattern they’re following.</p>
<p>When Simon comes back, he’s carrying two glasses of what I assume is some kind of beer. If he drinks as much as he’s eaten tonight, we might be in trouble.</p>
<p>For a while, we just sit and we talk and we drink. He’s smiling more and I can tell he’s a lot less nervous here. Though I fear I might be the nervous one now. This is completely out of my element.</p>
<p>At some point, a darker skinned woman with curly brown hair comes up and asks Simon to dance. He looks to me as if to get my approval before taking her hand and going out to dance.</p>
<p>I think that’s the girl, Penny, he had told me about earlier on our walk. She gave me a peculiar look when she came up to us to drag Simon away.</p>
<p>Now they’re in the middle of the dance floor, swinging this way and that. Jumping around and twirling like they don’t even have to think about it. It’s just natural for them.</p>
<p>A few girls come up to me and ask me to dance, which catches me by surprise, but I politely turn them down. I don’t think I’d be very good at whatever kind of dancing this is, besides I’m more than content to just sit here and watch the boy with golden hair twirl around the floor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>I keep glancing over at Baz and every time I do, without fail, he’s looking back at me. Watching me over the top of the glass in his hand. He sticks out like a sore thumb with his flowery navy blue blazer, and yet he doesn’t seem to care.</p>
<p>“You really had to go and fall for the most unavailable bloke on this ship, didn’t you?”</p>
<p>“Okay. First of all, there’s been no ‘<em> falling </em> ’ for <em> anyone </em> here.”</p>
<p>“Simon.” She raises an eyebrow at me, then looks over to Baz. “Didn’t you say he’s <em> engaged </em>?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. He is.” I spin her around. When she turns back to me, she fixes me with one of her signature glares which usually means I’ve said or done something stupid. “But, what’s the harm of having fun for a night?”</p>
<p>“Simon, we both know this isn’t going to be just one night thing. For <em> either </em> of you.”</p>
<p>“Pen, I don’t think he feels the same. He’s probably just sticking with me because I saved his life.” I don’t want that to be true. But I think, maybe it’d be easier if it were. Knowing that he wanted to see me again after tonight, might just hurt more given his situation.</p>
<p>“Oh, please. That’s horseshit. He’s been looking at you the entire time you’ve been here.” I look over at him again and sure enough, he’s watching. I’m not sure if he can see when I glance at him. I only glance for a second but whenever I do, he never looks away. “Si, I want you to be happy, I’m just concerned by the fact that he’s– well, engaged.”</p>
<p>“It’s just a one night thing. Nothing more.”</p>
<p>“Well in that case,” Penny stops our dance and squeezes my hands in hers. “You better go ask him to dance. To make it count.”</p>
<p>She nudges me a little back towards our table. Baz isn’t looking at me anymore. Maybe he saw me coming over and stopped.</p>
<p>“Come on.” I reach my hand out to him.</p>
<p>“Sorry?”</p>
<p>“Let’s dance.”</p>
<p>“You can’t be ser–” I grab his hand off the table before he can finish and drag him out to the dance floor.</p>
<p>I start moving but he hesitates. “I don’t know the steps.”</p>
<p>“Neither do I,” I laugh. “Just go with it.”</p>
<p>This time when I start moving, he moves with me, still a little stiff about it.</p>
<p>He’s concentrating too hard. I can tell because his brow is furrowed and he keeps looking at our feet.</p>
<p>“Don’t think about it.” I shout over the music. “Just look at me.”</p>
<p>He takes a breath and his eyes meet mine. After that he starts to loosen up a little and I can’t help but smile at him for it.</p>
<p>We dance around in circles to the beat of the music. People have started clapping from the edge of the dancing area. As we dance, I get this overwhelming warmth in my chest and I can’t help but laugh from the adrenaline.</p>
<p>I spin him around a few times, which is a little awkward because he’s a tad bit taller than me, but at least it gets him to laugh. Baz looks so alive and exuberantly happy, it’s absolutely mesmerizing. His hair has fallen out of place from all the twirling around and he has this blissful look in his eyes.</p>
<p>I pull him to my chest and dance around the room with him. He’s intertwined one of his hands with mine and the other sits on my waist. I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt as we twirl around.</p>
<p>Eventually the song ends and I’m left breathless and feeling a little light-headed. I pull him off to the side and tell him to wait while I go grab us some more drinks. Tonight is going great. At least if this is all I get of being around Baz, it’s a good memory to end on.</p>
<p>I take some full drinks from an abandoned table and bring them back over to where I left Baz. Except, he’s not there. I feel panic rise up in my chest. Maybe I shouldn’t have left him alone. I start walking around the room, peering over heads and shoving my way through dancers until I reach the band. There are two fiddlers having some kind of duel at the front, one of them <em> way </em>over dressed for this party.</p>
<p>I had no idea Baz played the fiddle but he’s really good. I watch him as his fingers move quickly but delicately across the neck of the instrument. He’s tapping his foot and his whole body moves with his instrument. A few dancers have taken to a duel as well, dancing in the open space in front of the band. The rest of the onlookers are clapping with the musicians so I set down the beers at the nearest table and clap along.</p>
<p>He’s so beautiful. I don’t know how I’m supposed to forget him after tonight. To be honest, until recently I didn’t even know I was attracted to men. I only started questioning it back in Paris when I was doing all those drawings. One of the men I drew quite frequently was into blokes. We didn’t do anything, but we talked a lot and he helped me figure out who I liked and whatnot. I knew I wasn’t homosexual, because I’m still attracted to girls. But he told me that there was this new term called ‘bisexual’ that meant you liked any gender, so I figure that’s what I am.</p>
<p>Regardless, I am very much attracted to Baz. Typical that one of the first blokes I’ve actually taken a liking to is <em> engaged </em>. And it’s even worse because the man he’s engaged to doesn’t even realize how lucky he is.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know what he’s missing.</p>
<p>The musicians are still going back and forth, passing the spotlight between each other. I think Baz is going to win though. He has this intense look in his eye as he draws his bow across the strings in quick tempo. The whole room is clapping along with them now. You can feel the battle coming to a climax as they get faster and faster.</p>
<p>When Baz plays his last note, the other fiddler drops her fiddle and claps. I grin, knowing that means Baz won the duel.</p>
<p>He bows to his competitor and returns the fiddle to the owner.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you played fiddle.” I say when he walks over to me. I grab the drinks I set down earlier and hand one to him.</p>
<p>“I don’t. I play violin.” He takes a sip of beer.</p>
<p>“Same difference.” I shrug.</p>
<p>“Not really.” He scoffs. “I haven’t done that in ages though. My father wanted me to learn strictly classical music.”</p>
<p>“That’s too bad. You played really well.” I raise my glass to him and he clinks it with his own.</p>
<p>“Well thank you, Snow.” He gives me a small smile before bringing the glass to his lips. I think he’s only going to take a small swig but then he starts gulping it down all at once. <em> Damn. </em></p>
<p>“What, you think a first-class bloke doesn’t know how to drink?” He brings a hand over his chest, mocking offense. I laugh and bump my shoulder against his.</p>
<p>The musicians start back up and the room comes alive once again. People start linking arms and dancing around the room. Baz links his arm with mine and drags us into the line. We keep dancing with our arms linked around the room picking up anyone who wants to join until we have a full circle.</p>
<p>We’re all spinning the circle around, making it surge inward and outward with the music. I hear Baz laughing next to me and I think there’s really no place I’d rather be.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>When the music dies and the party starts to head home, Baz is still holding my hand. Maybe after a while he just forgot. I wouldn’t blame him. We’re both pretty drunk right now. I can feel the warmth of the alcohol coursing through my veins. It’s almost overwhelming but the air outside is pleasantly cool.</p>
<p>Baz insisted he could walk back to first class on his own but I couldn’t let him. I think he’s a little more out of it than I am. So now we’re walking along the deck, he’s leaning on me and trying to remember the lyrics to some song<em> . </em></p>
<p>We both stumble to a stop when we see the door to first class. I’m not ready for him to go back yet.</p>
<p>He turns, letting go of my hand, and looks at me with a pout. He actually <em> pouts </em>. “I don’t want to go back.”</p>
<p>I don’t argue because I don’t want him to go back either.</p>
<p>And to my relief, instead of going through the door to first class, Baz turns and walks to the edge of the ship. I’ll have him a little longer.</p>
<p>“Look at them all.” He says, leaning over the railing and looking up into the stars, suddenly looking a lot more sober than he was a moment ago. “It’s so magnificent.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” I agree and step up next to him.</p>
<p>“So vast and endless. They’re so small.” He turns so he’s leaning back against the side of the ship. “My crowd,” he scoffs. “They think they’re giants. But they’re not even dust in the eyes of the universe.”</p>
<p>I laugh because he’s right. First-class think they’re all high and mighty. They act like giants and even though it doesn’t benefit them in the slightest, they’ll stomp on the mice, just to make a show of it. “You know there must have been a mistake.”</p>
<p>He looks at me, his brow drawn in confusion. I want to reach up and rub the crease away with my thumb.</p>
<p>“You’re not one of them. <em> You </em> got mailed to the wrong address.”</p>
<p>He laughs. “You’re right about that one, Snow.”</p>
<p>I wonder what Baz would’ve been like if he had grown up differently. If he hadn’t been born into money. At least then he wouldn’t have to marry Lamb. He could make his own decisions and be his own person. He wouldn’t have all the same poshness<em> , </em> but he’d probably still be a big prat nonetheless. I think even in third class, he’d out-do all the rest. It’s just in his nature.</p>
<p>“Look, a shooting star.”</p>
<p>I turn my head just in time to see it race across the sky. “Ebb used to say that every time you see a shooting star, it’s a soul passing on.”</p>
<p>“I like that.” He smiles, still looking up at the sky. “Aren’t we supposed to wish on it?”</p>
<p>“Well yeah, sure. What would you wish for?”</p>
<p>I know what I would wish for. I’d wish for this night to never end. I’d wish that him and I weren’t separated by class. I’d wish to see him one more time.</p>
<p>He looks at me with a tired smile. “Something I can’t have.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. tides i tried to swim against</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: light abuse and suggestions of past abuse in the beginning of chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>April 14th, 1912</b>
</p><p>
  <b>BAZ</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The morning after the party, I find myself having breakfast with Lamb. He had insisted that we eat together this morning, and I guess I kind of owe it to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t get Simon out of my head. My mind keeps going back to last night. When we were dancing and drinking and laughing together in the dead of the night. I’d never felt more alive. I want to see him again but I know I shouldn’t. It was a one time thing, and that’s all it ever should be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hoped you would have come to me last night.” He looks at me over his cup of tea. I stir mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well I was tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure after your exertions below deck, you were plenty tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My breath catches in my throat. “So you had your manservant follow me.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course he did.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He sets his tea down and props his elbows on the table. “You will never behave like that again, Basil. Do you understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a foreman in one of your mills that you can command. I’m your </span>
  <em>
    <span>fiancé</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” I sneer. I know what I’m doing. I know he’s going to be angry at my comment but I say it anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My fiancé…” He whispers into his hands. It’s as I predicted then. “My ‘fiancé’!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands up and flips the breakfast table to the side. I barely have a second to breathe before he grabs my wrists and pins me against the nearest wall as glass shards fly across the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are my husband. If not yet by law, then by practice and you will </span>
  <em>
    <span>honor</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. Because I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> be made of a fool.” He spits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I keep my face neutral and look him up and down. His nails are digging into my skin. I have just enough self control not to spit in his face or knee him in the crotch. I’m not surprised by his angry outbursts anymore. This isn’t the first time I’ve been pinned to the wall by my wrists, outburst or otherwise. I’m used to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except this time when he leaves, I let myself sink to the floor in the middle of the shattered glass. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pathetic</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Useless</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Baz.” I hear someone come up behind me and start picking up the shattered pieces. I realize it’s Vera.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vera. It’s fine. I’ll clean it up.” It comes out sharper than I intend it to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no you won’t.” She slaps my hand away from the broken pieces. “Go clean up inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time I don’t argue. I just nod, stand up, and walk back to my room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I get there I go straight for my vanity, where I’ve put my mother’s jewelry box. I take out the picture I keep of her in there and then I take out the necklace she’d been wearing when the photo was taken and put it around my neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take a deep breath to calm myself and stick the photo of her in the edge of the mirror, between the wood and the glass. The photo is worn at the edges where my fingers have rubbed over it a million times before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would be so disappointed in what I’ve become.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look at myself in the mirror next to her. We look a lot alike. Same black hair and grey eyes. It’s one of the reasons I never really cut my hair so short like most other men. I bring my hand up to the photo and trace along her face. You don’t realize how much you’ll miss someone until they’re gone. And no matter how many times I cry over her, the grief never goes away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like my heart’s jumped up to join my throat. I almost let myself cry but when I see my father walk into the room, I take a deep breath to stop myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Basil.” He greets me, coming up behind me in the mirror. I don’t look him in the eye. “You are not to see that boy again, do you understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh and shake my head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forbid it.” He says, sterner this time. “This is not a game. Our situation is precarious. You know the money’s gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I know it’s gone.” I spit. “How could I not when you remind me every day?” I rip the photograph out from the edge of the mirror and place it back in the jewelry box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your mother left us nothing but a legacy of bad debts hidden by a good name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I whip around. “Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare </span>
  </em>
  <span>talk about mother that way. She did what she had to do to keep doing what she loved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and look where it got us, huh? Just so she could play with her little </span>
  <em>
    <span>books</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He grabs my wrist that I was ready to hit him with and throws it down. “I don’t understand you. Lamb is a good match, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> he will ensure our survival. Your mother died to save you. The least you can do is to take responsibility for her debts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I almost laugh. “How can you put this on my shoulders?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you being so </span>
  <em>
    <span>selfish</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He growls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> being selfish.” I laugh bitterly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shut the jewelry box and grab my coat from the wall. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> follow me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I only stay so long to see my father’s jaw drop before I slam the door behind me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>PENNY</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been pacing our cramped little bedroom for the past hour. I think he might wear a hole in the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pen, I have to go talk to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh. He’s been talking about Baz all morning. Even last night, he stumbled into our room clearly drunk, all giggly and talking about Baz this and Baz that. I’ve never heard him talk about anyone as much as he’s talked about Baz. Eventually I had to put a cap on how much he could talk about him. The pacing I could deal with. But the talking </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the pacing? I think I would’ve gone mad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Si, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> why that’s a bad idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “But what am I supposed to do, just forget about him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” He stops pacing and his face drops. I know this is hard for him. I thought in the beginning he could at the very least make a new friend. He gets attached to people so quickly, but I really don’t think chasing after an engaged man is going to end well.It’d just be better for him to move on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I can, Pen.” He looks on the verge of tears. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Simon</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “That night on the railing he-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops. I can tell he’s hiding something from me but I don’t push it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just have this horrible feeling in my gut.” He collapses onto the bunk across from mine a little bit too dramatically. “Like he’s in trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Si, I’m sure he’s fine.” He’s staring a hole into the ceiling now. It’s a wonder this whole room hasn’t collapsed at this rate. “Hey, why don’t you come play cards with Shep and I today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want to talk to him,” he goes on. It’s like he didn’t even hear me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simon, I don’t think–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But how am I going to get to him?” He’s sat up now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Si–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he snaps. “I’ll just sneak into first class.” He gets up and starts lacing his shoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you mad? Have you gone absolutely mental?” He ignores me, again. And before I know it he’s walking out the door with a quick ‘wish me luck’ and then he’s gone. Bloody hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What did I just let him do?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>When I make it up to the deck I start walking. Then I shake my arms out and take deep breaths to try and calm myself down. I don’t know how long I walk for, probably hours, but it feels good. This is what I used to do when I felt stuck. Which is ironic, given that I’m currently stuck on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>boat</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the middle of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>ocean</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But I just try to pretend that I’m back home walking through the trees, or walking along a beach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves crashing against the side of the boat remind me of the beach. My mother had a home in Brighton that she would escape to for inspiration. More often than not, she would bring me with and after particularly taxing days, she’d take me on walks down the beach. The memory brings me comfort. Times were so much simpler then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Pitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I must have run into some kind of tour group because standing in front of me is Mr. Petty surrounded by a group of passengers. “Baz is fine.” I correct him politely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well would you like to join us? I was just giving a tour around the ship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I really have nothing better to do so I accept his offer and join his tour. I’m not really paying much attention to the actual tour though. I mostly just watch the other people on deck. There’s a kid playing with a top while his father watches him. This is exactly the kind of scene Simon would draw. I can almost imagine the charcoal sketch in my mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are twenty lifeboats aboard this ship. Each is designed to fit sixty-five passengers.” Mr. Petty knocks the side of the boat with his fist. “Not that there be much need for them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twenty lifeboats? That can’t be enough for everyone on board. Not nearly. Twenty times sixty-five is just over a thousand, and there are over two thousand on board.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgive me, Mr. Petty, but I did the sums in my head, and the number of boats times the capacity you mentioned… well it doesn’t seem there’s enough for everyone on board.” A few from the group hear me and let out quiet gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About half actually.” He smiles at me as if he’s impressed. It feels mocking. “Nothing gets past you. In fact, I put in these new type davits that could hold an extra row of boats inside this one, but it was thought by some that the deck would look too cluttered, so I was overruled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s ridiculous. What if it did sink? What were they to do then? Surely it won’t even be a question that the first-class passengers get priority for boats should there be an emergency. So what about Simon? What about all the other people in third-class?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to worry, Baz. I’ve built her sound and strong. She’s all the lifeboat you need.” He pats my back and with that, he carries on with his tour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m just about to follow the rest of the group when I feel someone tug hard at my elbow. Out of instinct I bring my fist up and swing around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah.” The person ducks before I can hit them and when they pop back up I realize it’s Simon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snow?” He doesn’t say anything just tugs at my elbow again and pulls me into a room. I think it must be some kind of supply room. It’s a bit cramped but at least there’s a window to let in light. “What the hell are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I came to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t. You shouldn’t be here.” God, what do I have to do to be rid of this gorgeous idiot?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand reaches up to my face and I’m almost convinced that he’s going to kiss me. What’s wrong with me? “You have a scratch on your face. What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull his hand away from my face. It’s probably from the shattered glass when Lamb flipped the table. I must have been too distracted to notice. “Nothing happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he grabs my wrists and pulls them up between us. I pretend not to flinch. “Why are your wrists bruised, Baz? Did Lamb do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. He didn’t. It wasn’t like that.” I yank my wrists from his grasp. He turns away from me, shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not an idiot. I know how the world works. I have ten dollars in my pocket and </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to offer you.” He’s pacing now in the small space. “God. I wasn’t even going to come see you. I was going to let you go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So why didn’t you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m too involved now, Baz! You jump, I jump, remember?” He stops pacing and faces me. “I can’t just turn away without knowing you’ll be alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s breathing heavily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m holding my breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t look convinced. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need you to save me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Snow.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m not some damsel in distress.” I snap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that. God, I know that. But you need to save </span>
  <em>
    <span>yourself</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” His hand is back on my face now. I try not to lean into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t get to do this.” I take his hand away from my face with a little too much force. “I’m going back. Leave me alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without looking back, I turn away and walk out the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>FIONA</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know how I found myself in Malcolm Grimm’s study, but I knew I couldn’t just stay silent about what I saw this morning. As soon as Vera told me, I went to go see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t believe it. There were glass plates shattered all across the floor. Glasses of tea and orange juice spilled, scones broken apart. The table was on its side. It looked like a typhoon blew through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened here?” I had asked, treading carefully over the glass pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lamb.” She said simply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I asked for clarification but she just sighed and shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So now I’m here, ready to give Malcolm a piece of my mind for letting something like that happen. I knew we shouldn’t have trusted Lamb from the beginning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want, Fiona?” He doesn’t bother to look at me, just sips his brandy and stares into the heater under the mantle. It’s supposed to be a replacement for fire but I don’t understand it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here to talk about Lamb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs and swirls the alcohol around the rim of his glass. “What about him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think Baz should be marrying him.” I cross my arms and move to stand in front of him. He tenses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been through this, Fiona. We need the money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To hell with the money.” I snap. “This is about your son’s happiness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not about him.” He stands up, so now we’re face to face. “Without this arrangement, our family will not survive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh in disbelief. “Of course it’s about him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm walks past me to the liquor shelf and goes to pour himself another drink. It’s deafeningly silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malcolm, I think Baz is being hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs. “That’s absurd. Lamb is a nice young man.“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The dining patio where they were eating breakfast this morning was destroyed. It looked like the table had been thrown.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was probably just an accident.” I cannot believe my sister married this man. She could have done so much better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An </span>
  <em>
    <span>accident</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Tables don’t get flipped over by accident.” He wavers and I think I might’ve gotten to him but then a stern look falls across his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter. We’re never going to have an opportunity like this again. Lamb is our only way out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scoff. “You’re unbelievable. And a </span>
  <em>
    <span>coward</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” I walk over to his dresser and pull a cigarette from the pack laying there. Then I cross the room to the door, lighting it as I go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going?” He looks like he wants to stop me, but him and I both know that I never listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To talk to my nephew.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take me long to find Baz. He’s in his sitting room, lounging and reading a book. Exactly where I thought he’d be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey kid.” I sit down on the opposite end of the couch and draw in a breath of the fag I bummed from Malcolm. I try not to notice the small bruises blossoming on his wrists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No smoking near the books, Fi.” I laugh. He’s just like Natasha. She never let me smoke near her books. He sets the book he’s reading down on the table and sits up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re wearing your mother’s necklace.” His hand comes up to his neck like he forgot he had it on and nods. He reminds me of her. The dark wavy hair, the grey eyes. The necklace brings it all together and I find myself smiling without meaning to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Lamb?” I take one last inhale and then put the cig out in the ashtray.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably out playing poker. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about that blonde?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes narrow and his shoulders tense. “Did my father send you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh. “In what world do you think Malcolm Grimm controls me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why’d you ask?” He crosses his arms and glares at me. It reminds me of when he was little how he would pout at me. It’s kind of adorable. The fact that he’s this defensive about that boy, gives me a pretty good idea about how much he cares for him. He has this habit of putting up walls when he starts caring too much for something or someone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug. “He’s cute. Seems kind of like your type.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes and leans back against the arm of the couch. “Why would that matter? I’m–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops. We both know what he was going to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you don’t have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffs. “Of course I have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s stubborn and I know that so I don’t argue, even though he has every right to dropkick Lamb’s ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, fine. Even so, who’s stopping you from having a little fun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please.” He sits up again, swinging his legs back to the ground and shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious.” I knock his shoulder with mine. “Who’s going to know? It’s not every day you get to meet a dreamy bloke on some giant fancy steam liner. Don’t waste it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs and I can see the blood rushing to his cheeks. When he realizes, he clears his throat. “Well, even if I could, I don’t even know where to find him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure it won’t be that hard.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. brought me down upon my knees</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>Finding Simon proves to be a difficult task. I feel like I’ve looked everywhere. I even looked below deck where the party was held that night. I almost give up. I don’t even know what deck he’s staying on, let alone the room number. Eventually I do manage to find Bunce. She’s playing cards with a few men in one of the common areas. She told me the last time she talked to him, he had been upset and told her he needed time alone. She gave me some hints to where he could be but I think I already knew.</p>
<p>And lo’ and behold, there he was, leaning over the bow of the ship. Golden curls set ablaze by the setting sun.</p>
<p>“Snow.” I call to get his attention. He whips around, eyes wide. He looks me up and down, confusion pulling at his brow. “Penny told me you might be here.”</p>
<p>“What are you doing here? I thought–”</p>
<p>“I changed my mind.” I shrug. I never do that. But right now I feel kind of at a loss for words. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.</p>
<p>He quickly goes from confused to beaming and suddenly I’m being dragged by the hand to the railing.</p>
<p>“Step up.” He orders.</p>
<p>“Are you trying to kill me, Snow?” I tease. I have no idea what he’s doing.”I thought last time you wanted to get me <em> off </em> the rail, now you’re telling me to get back <em> on </em>? Tsk.”</p>
<p>“Oh shut up. I wanna show you something. Close your eyes, step on the rail and hold onto it. I've got you.” True to his word, when I step onto the rail, eyes closed, his feet come up beside mine and his arms wrap around my waist. His entire body is pressed against mine and I thank the heavens that I’m turned away from him so he can’t see the heat rising to my face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>“Do you trust me?” He breaths deep against my chest. I can feel his every movement, and even though he’s slightly taller than me, I could easily rest my chin on his shoulder.</p>
<p>He nods. “Yes.”</p>
<p>Good. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he said no.</p>
<p>Slowly, I unwrap his hands from the railing and bring his arms out straight. He hesitates at first but eventually relaxes, leaning his body slightly into mine.</p>
<p>“Alright, now, open your eyes.” I’ve got my hands back around his waist and I feel more than hear him gasp when he opens his eyes.</p>
<p>Then he starts laughing and I think if I were to fall of this ship right now, I'd be content, because I got to hear Baz Pitch laugh so openly and freely as we ride into the setting sun. This wasn’t the original plan. I mean– I didn’t really have a plan. I didn’t expect to see him ever again. But as soon as I saw him I just knew I had to show him.</p>
<p>When I came up here earlier I was really upset. Not with him though. I think I was upset with the world, and with myself. And I couldn't get myself to calm down, but when I stepped up on the rail, every negative thought that was plaguing me suddenly got washed away. It felt like flying. It felt like freedom. And I just knew I had to show him what it felt like.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>I’ve never felt so alive. <em>He</em> makes me feel alive.</p>
<p>His hands travel from my waist to my arms and then to my hands. My breath catches in my throat. He gently interlaces his fingers with mine and rests his chin on my shoulder. I haven’t seen Simon be gentle since the moment I met him. Except when he'd put his hand on mine that night.</p>
<p>God, I want to kiss him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>I bring our hands inward and he turns ever so slightly in my arms so that I can see his face. He’s breathtaking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>I think I might kiss him. I know I shouldn’t. I’m engaged to marry another man. It’s wrong. So then why does the idea of it feel so right?</p>
<p>I <em> can’t </em> kiss him.</p>
<p>Except, his hands are entwined in mine and he’s looking at me with those blue blue eyes and I think I might. But then, <em> he </em> kisses <em> me. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>He goes still beneath my hands and I think I’ve royally fucked up, but then all at once, he melts. One of his hands comes up to the back of my head to deepen the kiss.</p>
<p>I never want this to end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>It's good, it's good, it's so good.</p>
<p>I’ve never been kissed like this. Lamb has kissed me, but they’re usually short and meaningless. Nothing like this. He keeps doing this thing with his chin and it’s driving me mad. I can feel my blood rushing through my veins all the way through my fingertips. Every one of my nerves feels like it's on fire. He good at this, like he's done it a million times before. It makes me think maybe he'd actually been lying about not having secret love affairs in Paris, but I push the thought of it from my brain. I push the tips of my fingers into his curls and he hums. Then he starts smiling into the kiss and my brain short circuits. Eventually we have to break apart because he’s smiling so much, and when we do I realize he wasn’t the only one.</p>
<p>He nudges his nose against mine and in that moment I make a decision. A stupid decision, really.</p>
<p>“I want you to draw me.”</p>
<p>“Huh?” He moves his face away from mine, a little dazed.</p>
<p>“I want you to draw me.” I repeat. I've been stupidly thinking about the thought of Simon drawing me ever since I saw his sketches. At first I'd thought of him simply drawing me a portrait, though now I think I might be able to get away with a little more.</p>
<p>“I, uh–” He stammers.</p>
<p>“I can pay you if you’d like.” </p>
<p>“No no, you don’t have to pay me.” He places a quick kiss against my temple and I shiver. A kiss like that has no business being so tender, but it makes my heart beat faster anyway. “I’d love to draw you.”</p>
<p>He carefully hops down from the rail and clears his throat. There's a light dusting of pink over his cheeks as a testament of what we just did.  “Shall we?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry, this is a short chapter!! The next chapter will be up tomorrow!</p>
<p>Thank you for reading!!! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. oh i beg, i beg and plead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I want you to draw me like one of your french girls"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry for the late posting! I meant to post it earlier, but it's been a busy day for me and now I'm ending up posting it at 12am– whoops.</p><p>Please enjoy!! This is a very fluffy chapter. There's also art in this chapter (drawn by yours truly) ;)</p><p>WARNING: Light smut? It's not really smut because it's not explicit. However, if you'd like to skip it, I've marked the beginning and end of the scene with asterisks (it's a very short bit)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>BAZ</b>
</p><p>I end up leading Simon to my quarters. I know Lamb won’t be back until late tonight, so I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him.</p><p>He takes off his coat and sets it down on a chair.</p><p>“Will this do?” I ask as he slowly makes his way around the room, mouth agape as he takes it all in. I gather he’s not used to the gold interior.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“The lighting… the room… will it work for you, Mr. Snow?” I ask in mock professionalism.</p><p>“Oh, yes, of course. It’s perfect.” He’s not quite looking at me, still focused on the rest of the room. And my paintings. “Monet!”</p><p>His face lights up as he rushes over to the painting leaning against the wall.</p><p>“Do you know his work?” </p><p>“Of course.” He brings his hand up to trace over the painting. “Look at his use of color here.”</p><p>“I know. It’s magnificent.” I agree.</p><p>I get up while he looks over the rest of my collection and go over to the safe. “Lamb insists on carting this hideous thing everywhere.” I quickly turn the dial to open the safe. He set the code as my birthday so it’s not too hard to remember.</p><p>I pull out the necklace Lamb got me for our anniversary. I think if Simon’s going to draw me, it may as well be with this necklace. I’m sure my <em> fiancé </em> would love to see it.</p><p>“Speaking of, should we uh- should we be expecting him at all?”</p><p>“Not as long as the cigars and brandy hold out.” I take the necklace out of its case and walk over to Simon with it.</p><p>“Woah.” He gasps. “What is that? A sapphire?”</p><p>“A diamond.” I correct. “A very rare diamond. It’s called ‘La coeur de la mer’. “</p><p>He looks at me like he doesn’t know what that means, and he probably wouldn’t. But I thought spending time in France he might’ve picked up some of the language.</p><p>He turns the diamond over in his hands, watching as the blue hue reflects in the light. I was right about the color. It matches Simon’s eyes.</p><p>“Snow,” I start carefully. “I want you to draw me like one of your french boys, wearing this.”</p><p>“Alright,” he breaths. He doesn’t look at me, still inspecting the diamond in the light. I don’t think he catches my meaning.</p><p>“Wearing <em> only </em> this.”</p><p>His head whips so fast I think he might break his neck. His mouth is slack and his eyes search mine like he’s looking for a sign that I was pulling his leg. But then he nods and hands me the necklace again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>SIMON</b>
</p><p>Baz left what feels like ages ago. I moved the couch so that the light of the fireplace hits it just right and brought a chair over to face it. I’ve got my sketchbook laid out on a small table in front of me and I’ve already sharpened my charcoal. I take a deep breath and try not to panic.</p><p>I don’t know how I accidentally signed myself up for this. I mean, I’m not complaining, but am I ready for this? I try to think about it like I’m just drawing a stranger in Paris but it’s hard to imagine it like that. He’s <em> Baz </em>.</p><p>
  <em> Get yourself together, Simon. Be professional. </em>
</p><p>I keep having to grab my rubber and erase the marks my charcoal is leaving as I tap it against the paper.</p><p>Just as I’m hyping myself up, Baz steps out from the other room he’d disappeared to. He’s wearing the necklace and a black silk robe.</p><p>He walks over to me agonizingly slow, the dramatic prat. I feel like the breath has been taken from me and the heat rise to my cheeks. He’s not even taken the robe off yet and my jaw can’t seem to pick itself off the floor.</p><p>Then he brings his hands up to the edges of the robe and–</p><p><em> Fuck </em>. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>BAZ</b>
</p><p>I hope he can’t tell how much my hands are shaking.</p><p>I had to talk myself up so much to be able to come out here.</p><p>I wanted to do this, but I couldn’t shake the nervousness that comes with being so exposed in front of another person. I’ve been nude with Lamb (unfortunately) but it feels so much different in front of Simon. I trust him though, and as soon as I let the robe fall from my body, I know I made the right decision.</p><p>I can feel the smug look taking over my face as I watch his face go slack. His eyes scan my body before whipping back up to my face. Except, he’s having trouble maintaining eye contact and it’s the cutest thing ever. I’ll have to tease him about it sometime.</p><p>He instructs me in short sentences and hand gestures. I can tell he’s trying very hard to keep his eyes on my face and I smirk at him for that. <em> Such a gentleman. </em> I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s nervous.</p><p>He clears his throat. “Can you put your other hand by your face right there?”</p><p>I do as he asks, letting my hand fall on the pillow beside my face.</p><p>“Perfect.” He smiles. “Now head down, eyes on me and keep them on me. And uh– try to stay still.”</p><p><em> Gladly </em>, I think. I could watch him for hours.</p><p>He takes a deep breath and starts scratching his charcoal across the paper. His eyebrows are scrunched in concentration. The light from the heater makes his curls glow. His freckles are even more prominent in this light, washed in a golden hue. I’d love to kiss each one of them. He has moles scattering down his neck that disappear under his shirt and I think I’d love to kiss those too.</p><p>He goes on like that for at least twenty minutes, eyes flitting between me and the paper. All the while, a pretty blush fills his cheeks under his galaxy of freckles.</p><p>“I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste.” I tease. He smiles sheepishly. “I can’t imagine Monsieur Monet blushing.”</p><p>Simon rolls his eyes. “He does <em> landscapes </em>.”</p><p>“Mhmm…” I smirk at him. His whole face is red now.</p><p>“Shush. Relax your face.” He orders me.</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>We go on like this for what must have been an hour. I watch as he squints in concentration, with his bottom lip between his teeth. Occasionally he’d lick his lips, and I wonder if he’d do it just to tease me. My heart is pounding. He has no idea what he does to me. It is so difficult to be calm when he’s just staring at me unabashed like this. I keep having to take deep breaths and make sure my thoughts don’t stray too far.</p><p>This is the most vulnerable I’ve ever been with anybody. Long ago, I put up these walls, making sure no one could break through. But Simon bloody Snow managed to come barrelling through them in mere days (maybe hours).</p><p>When he tells me he’s done, I get up and put my robe on. He’s not watching me anymore, still scribbling on his sketchbook.</p><p>I realize when I come up behind him that he’s writing the date and his signature at the corner of the drawing. He writes his name in cursive except instead of the usual cursive ‘S’ it looks more like a normal ‘S’ curved up at the bottom.</p><p>His art is stunning. I expected it to be, but seeing my face staring back at me from the paper makes it feel all the more exciting. “Thank you.”</p><p>He sticks the drawing in a thin leather cover and hands it to me as I bend down to kiss him. This kiss isn’t fierce like the one before. It’s soft and tender, and I can’t decide which kind I like better.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>LAMB</b>
</p><p>Basil didn’t show up to dinner tonight. I didn’t think much of it. He does that a lot, skips dinners. But now with that street rat he keeps hanging out with, I have to take extra measures to make sure he keeps away. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing. He’s making us look bad.</p><p>I’ve known for a long time that Basil was going to take a while to open up to me, but he seemed to just open right up to the boy from steerage. It makes me angry to no end. He’s being absolutely ridiculous. I’ve given Basil everything and more and he still won’t be by my side. One day, he will be mine. He’ll never think of leaving me again. And once we’re married, I’ll finally have him where I want him.</p><p>I see Williams enter the smoke room and I excuse myself from the table. I sent him out a while ago to ask my Basil’s family of his whereabouts. I hope he’s merely back in his room reading one of his pesky books.</p><p>“What did you find?”</p><p>“None of the stewards nor his family have seen him since before dinner.”</p><p>“That’s ridiculous. It’s a <em> ship </em> . There’s only so many places he could <em> be </em> .” I hiss under my breath. I don’t want to make a scene but I swear, if I find he’s run off with that little blonde rat, I will be sure that Basil’s <em> toy </em> is dealt with by morning. “Williams, find him.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>SIMON</b>
</p><p>Baz went back to the other room as I cleaned up my art supplies. I have pat myself on the back for my self control. Seeing him like that, completely out in the open and absolutely fucking gorgeous, was doing things to me. I’d seriously never wanted someone so bad. Drawing my other clients was never like this.</p><p>When I go back to check on him, he’s got on a sheer lavender button-up with black trousers, much to my dismay. </p><p>He’s hunched over a table, writing something, though I’m not sure what. When he sees me he looks up and smiles.</p><p>“Can you put this back in the safe for me?” He hands me the box with the diamond necklace and I take it to go put it back where I’d seen the safe.</p><p>Just as I’m putting away the necklace, Baz comes up behind me and slides my drawing of him into the safe as well. His arms wrap around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder like how I’d done earlier and it makes my stomach flip. I wish I knew what he was thinking.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>BAZ</b>
</p><p>“Mr. Pitch?”</p><p>“Shit.” I curse under my breath and grab Simon’s hand. Lamb must have sent his manservant out looking for me.</p><p>“What is it?” He whispers.</p><p>I don’t answer him. My heart is pounding as I hurry to get Simon and I out of the room. He reaches for his jacket on our way out and throws it on, whispering something about his drawings, but I’m too focused on getting out of the room to answer. We’ll just have to come back for them. I shut each door as quietly as I can behind me until we make it into the hallway where I have a moment to breathe.</p><p>“Who was that?”</p><p>“Lamb’s lackey.”</p><p>I thought he’d be looking around the room longer and maybe we’d lost him but when I turn back he’s just come out of the room behind us. <em> Fucking hell </em>.</p><p>“Go, go, go.” Simon grabs me and pulls me as we run. Even as we’re running for our lives, Simon is smiling. His laughs echo through the hallways and it makes me feel giddy inside. I can’t help but laugh too. We’re running through the ship like it’s a game of tag. It makes me feel like a kid again. He does that to me. Somehow he makes me forget everything. Every worry, every responsibility– gone.</p><p>I’m sure we look like right idiots pushing our way through crowds, laughing like we’re mad, but I can’t find it in me to care at this moment.</p><p>We finally managed to lose him when we entered the elevator, though he was pretty close behind. <em> Wanker </em>. I threw him the bird as we started our descent. He looked downright furious.</p><p>When we make it down to E deck we’re out of breath, leaning against the wall for support. I feel high.</p><p>“Reckon we lost him?” I nod as I catch my breath and he laughs. “Pretty tough for a valet, this fella. Seems more like a cop.”</p><p>“I think he was.”</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>I look up and echo Simon’s thoughts exactly. Because there he is down the hall, coming straight toward us. Simon grabs my arm and suddenly we’re running again. My heart is pounding with the fear of being caught.</p><p>I think we’ve run into a deadend but then he pulls me into a room and slams the door behind us. Thank god it has a lock. I think this must be some sort of boiler room.</p><p>“Now what genius?” I yell over the fans.</p><p>“Only one way out right?”</p><p>He’s right. The only way out besides the door we came through is a ladder that must lead down to the engine room. Bloody hell.</p><p>He goes down first and we end up behind one of the boilers. As soon as I’ve hopped down from the ladder Simon grabs me by the collar and kisses me hard. I let out a surprised yelp against his lips.</p><p>Everything feels so hot and I can’t tell if it’s because Simon’s kissing me or because we’re surrounded by hot coal. Probably both. He’s like the sun and I might be falling into him but I don’t care. </p><p>“Oi! What are you two doin’ down ‘ere?”</p><p>One of the workers has spotted us. Simon lets out another curse and then we’re both running again. Most of the workers are unbothered, though a few start yelling that we shouldn’t be down here. I think I’d do this all day. I could run forever if I knew at the end I’d get Simon.</p><p>Eventually the engine room lets out to what appears to be a storage room if the hundreds of stacked crates are anything to go by. The difference in temperature makes me shiver.</p><p>“Woah!”</p><p>In the center of the room is a Renault that Simon is aweing over. “You act like you’ve never seen a car before, Snow.”</p><p>“Shut up. It’s cool.”</p><p>I won’t lie. It does have a much nicer paint job than my family’s car. Ours is black. This one is a deep red with shiny gold accents. Someone paid a great deal for this one.</p><p>Simon, ever the gentleman, walks around to the side of the car and opens the door for me to climb in. When I’ve sat down in the back seat, he climbs up to the front and honks the horn of the car.</p><p>“Snow, you’re gonna get us caught.” I hiss.</p><p>“Where to, sir?” He asks in this over the top posh accent, ignoring me. If I didn’t know better I’d think he’s mocking me.</p><p>I push down the glass window that separates us because apparently I can’t stand to not be near him for two seconds. I’m pathetic like that. But then he looks at me and I remember why. His eyes are shining into mine. “To the stars.”</p><p>He turns to face me in his seat. He looks nervous. His bottom lip gets pulled between his teeth and he can’t quite keep eye contact. “Can I kiss you?”</p><p>The question catches me by surprise considering his tongue was basically down my throat two minutes ago. “You didn’t ask before.”</p><p>“Well I’m asking now.” This idiot. To think I wouldn’t want to kiss him. </p><p>“You don’t have to ask.” And so he does. He kisses me as if his life depends on it. I swear if I were standing I think my knees would have given out. His hands come up to the back of my head and entangle themselves in my hair. I like it. He’s doing that thing with his chin again and it’s driving me mad. I can feel his heartbeat in my throat, pounding.</p><p>
  <em> He’s too far away. </em>
</p><p>I reach behind me to take his hands from my hair and pull him through the window with me. There’s nothing graceful about it. We end up as a tangle of limbs in the backseat of the car, all the while never daring to break from our kiss. He leans over top of me and makes me reach for his lips. I do every time.</p><p>It’s not very comfortable, but I don’t really mind and he doesn’t seem to either.</p><p>His knee comes up between my legs as he hums into my mouth. The sound alone sends a vibration through my entire body. I think I know where this might be going.</p><p>I take one of his hands and guide it down my body until it’s resting against my trousers. He parts with a gasp. “Are you sure?”</p><p>I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. “Yes.”</p><p>His eyes lock with mine and then he nods. With a new look of determination in his eyes he sets to undoing the buttons on my shirt. And being the impatient prat that I am, I pull him down to kiss him while he fumbles with my buttons. He growls into my mouth when he gets frustrated with the last few.</p><p>“Why does your shirt have so many bloody buttons?” I laugh. Once my shirt is finally off, I get to work on his shirt (shirts*, because he has an undershirt on too, the wanker). Once I pull both shirts up and over his head, my hands trail up and down his stomach, tracing the moles along his torso. He’s so fit. </p><p>Simon tilts his head and deepens the kiss. I can barely think straight. It’s good. It’s so good.</p><p>“How far?”</p><p>The question takes me by surprise. I’d just assumed we’d go all the way. I’d never been given an option otherwise. Not with Lamb. Lamb who never asks and only takes.</p><p>But I forget Simon isn’t like that. He’s gentle and kind and a little bit of a dumbass but I like that about him. Simon, who saw me at my worst and at my most vulnerable and showed only patience and caring.</p><p>“Love?” The pet name makes my heart jump and I almost forgot he asked me a question. I’ve probably been staring at him for far too long.</p><p>“As far as you’d like.” I bring my hand up to his cheek and run my thumb across his freckles.</p><p>“I want to make love to you.”</p><p>“Okay.” I nod. Suddenly he looks nervous. Like he doesn’t really know what to do now that I’ve said yes. “It’s okay, Simon. I trust you.”</p><p>I take one of his hands and bring it to my mouth to kiss along his fingertips. That seems to calm him down.</p><p>***</p><p>With a shaky breath, he reaches down to take his trousers off and then helps me with mine. I’ve got my hands in his hair and my mouth against his neck. He’s taken to throwing out expletives when he gets frustrated with a particular piece of clothing and I have to try not to laugh. He’s a nightmare.</p><p>When we’ve both successfully undressed, his eyes scrape down my body, as if he hadn’t just been staring at me for an hour prior. His body is fully pressed against mine now, our lips colliding. Every point of contact feels like I’m being lit on fire from the inside out. It’s intoxicating.</p><p>He’s clumsy in his movements like he doesn’t have much experience, but I don’t really mind. I guide him with my hands and my words. He’s gentle, almost too gentle, treating me like I’m something precious. He asks if I’m okay every few minutes, the moron. Everything about this is <em> more </em> than okay. </p><p>Everything he does feels so intense.</p><p>Every push and pull brings me more and more bliss. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, where he’s got himself pressed as close as he can to me. All the while, we’re still kissing, only breaking for breaths when needed. Occasionally his lips move down to my neck but they always come back.</p><p>I reach up for something to grab onto but only find glass so my hand ends up entangling itself in bronze curls. They’re drenched in sweat and steam. He hums when I rake my fingers across his scalp.</p><p>Every touch, every movement of his lips against mine feels like white hot fire. Like he’s filling in all the cold and empty spaces. He’s so warm and bright.</p><p>Then all at once I see stars. A bright wave of heat courses through my body as we both ride out our highs and the world around us blinks out of existence.</p><p>When we come back to Earth, Simon collapses onto my chest. We’re both spent and breathing heavily, temporarily ignoring the mess between us.</p><p>My fingers are still in his hair so I take the opportunity to push his curls out of his face and kiss his forehead.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>SIMON</b>
</p><p>I’m completely spent.</p><p>I never thought sex could feel that good. I’ve had sex with girls a few times and fooled around with a couple boys but it was <em> never </em> like this. It never really meant anything before now.</p><p>I can’t believe I just shagged Baz Pitch. The thought alone makes me feel giddy and I find myself laughing into his chest, much to his confusion.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>I sit up and he looks at me with one eyebrow raised. I shrug.</p><p>Now that I’ve sat up I realize the mess we made and get to work cleaning us up with my undershirt. I don’t really need it anyway.</p><p>When I’ve finished, I collapse back onto the carseat, only halfway draped on Baz’s chest so I can still look at him. I know we’re on borrowed time, but I want to enjoy this as long as I can. We lay like that for several minutes, simply holding each other and breathing.</p><p>I wonder what will happen after this. Will he have to go back to first class? Will he just marry Lamb and forget about me?</p><p>I can’t imagine just going back to my life like nothing ever happened. I don’t think I could. He’s too important. I don’t want this to end, and I certainly don’t want him going back to his most likely abusive fiancé. At the very least, even if he didn’t want to be with me after this, I’d like to help him escape.</p><p>“When we dock, get off with me.” I didn’t mean to say it, but it’s too late now.</p><p>“Simon, I– I can’t.”</p><p>Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew he would say that, but then why does it make me so angry?</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“I just can’t. I’m marrying Lamb.” He snaps. His walls are back up.</p><p>“Why?” I ask again. “And don’t say because your father told you so, because you are old enough to make your own decisions. So why do you do this to yourself?”</p><p>“It’s none of your business.”</p><p>I laugh bitterly.</p><p>“Baz, I think we’re past that.”</p><p>He looks at me. He’s clearly conflicted.</p><p>“I just–” He starts then pauses to take a breath. “My family needs money. Lamb has money.”</p><p>“It’s not <em> your </em>responsibility, though.”</p><p>“It is. The only reason my family is struggling is because my mother died and left us in debt. I’m the one responsible for her death so I have to pay that debt.” He puts his hand over the hand I have resting on his chest. My stomach sinks. I knew his mother died but he hadn’t told me much more than that.</p><p>“What happened?” I intertwine my fingers with his and squeeze. He sighs.</p><p>“There was a fire when I was ten. My mother came back into the burning building to save me. On our way out, she was hit with a falling beam and got stuck. She told me to run. She told me to save myself so I did.” He sniffs and I realize he’s crying. “If I had just stayed and helped her, she wouldn’t have died.”</p><p>“Hey Baz, that’s not your fault. If you would have gone back, you probably would have died too. She died so that you could <em> live </em>. This? What you’re doing? This isn’t living. Don’t let her death be in vain. If you keep going like this, you’re only going to end up hurting yourself and the Baz I got to know these past few days will wither away.” I reach my hand up to his face to wipe away his tears.</p><p>“It’s your decision, Baz. I won’t take that from you. If you decide to go back to your life and forget about me, I won’t stop you. But I will never ever forget about you, so if– hmph.”</p><p>He cuts me off with a salty kiss.</p><p>“You’re absolutely bloody mental if you think I could ever forget about you, Simon Snow.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading!! Let me know what you think in the comments below!! I love to read your guys' comments &lt;3 I appreciate each and every one of you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. come out of things unsaid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>iceberg time... aka: angst time. buckle up, this is gonna be a long ride.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you see their faces?” When we make it up to the top deck, Simon doubles over laughing. He’s practically wheezing. I can’t blame him though, it was pretty hilarious the look on their faces. I was more worried about getting out of there before they saw us but Simon insisted to stay back a bit just enough to see their reactions to the state of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as we heard the cargo door open, we booked it. I was still trying to put my clothes on as we were running away. I think I now share the same resent that Simon has for my buttons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was very unsophisticated and both our hearts were beating out of our chests, yet through it all, Simon was still laughing to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon’s shirt is messy and untucked now under his coat, and he’s still got his shoes in his hand so he’s just standing there, barefoot and laughing. That sight alone awakens the butterflies in my stomach. The night is cold and eerie, the stars aren't twinkling as brightly as they were last night, leaving the ship in an uncomfortable shroud of darkness. But who needs stars when you have the literal sun right in front of you?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually when he’s calmed down enough from laughing, he grabs my face and crashes his lips against mine. I think I could get used to this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His arms come up to wrap around me and he presses himself so that we’re chest to chest, leaving no space between. I don’t really know what to do with my hands so I just let them rest around his waist and let him kiss me. Slow, tender kisses press against my lips and every time I think he's about to pull away, he comes right back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I'm not how much time passes but eventually I start getting light headed and I’m hearing this ringing noise. No, not ringing, it’s more like a bell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not until Simon parts that I realize it’s not in my head. There actually is a bell and it sounds really frantic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?” Simon whispers under his breath. Then he gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn to look where he’s looking and have to look a second time to make sure I’m not imagining it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An iceberg. Right in line with the ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon’s still holding on to the front lapels of my shirt, so I pull him closer. I don’t know why, I guess maybe as a comfort, but he leans into me nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s chaos above us on deck and I hear shouts of crew members throwing orders. But we’re still heading straight for the iceberg. Are we going to hit it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why isn’t the ship turning?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing we can do but stand and watch as the iceberg gets closer and closer to us. It looks like it’s going to hit. I want to turn, maybe try to get further back on the ship in case it does hit, but I feel frozen. I can’t move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon has a death grip on my shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so close now. If we don’t turn in time, it’s going to hit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As we near the iceberg, it looks like the ship’s turned nearly out of the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s not enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole ship shudders under us as we cut our way across the side of the iceberg.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve never seen so much ice in all my life. It's so tall it casts a shadow over us. It’s looming and huge and so bloody close to the side of the ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I see it before it happens and feel Simon tug at my shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move!” Simon yells and pulls me away from the side of the ship as ice breaks and shatters onto the deck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the iceberg clears, I run up to the side of the ship to look over. I don't see any damage. It looks like it barely made a dent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well it looks alright.” I report, still a little breathless. “I don’t see anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think it could have damaged the ship?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It didn’t seem like it hit too bad. We managed to get past it, right? I think we’ll be alright.” I don't know who I'm trying to convince more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well in that case…” I’m just about to turn and ask him what he means when I feel him reach behind my shirt and drop something. I gasp as something cold trails down my back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon Snow just dropped a chunk of ice in my shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try to shake it out but he’s already reaching out with another piece of ice, mischief written across his face as he giggles. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Giggles.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, that’s it.” I push his hands away, knocking the ice to the ground, and grab him around his middle. “You’re going overboard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s a mixture of screams and laughs and pleas for help. He’s actually a lot lighter than he looks, what with his broad shoulders and muscles. “Baz!” He screams between laughing. “Put me down!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course I don’t have the heart to keep him there, dangling half over the side of the ship so I put him back down on his feet, once I'm sure he won't attempt anything again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That earns me a playful punch to the shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you started it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah and I’m about to finish it.” He grabs my shirt and pulls me into him one more time for a lingering kiss. His hands are cold against my neck (from the ice. I don't think Simon's hands could ever be naturally cold). It makes me shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should probably head back inside where it’s warm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We turn to head back up the stairs to first class. I’m not sure where we’re going but I figure anywhere inside is better than outside in this cold. I don’t even have a coat on, so the cold air nips at my skin. I guess I was just too preoccupied earlier to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As we’re crossing the deck I see a group of young men kicking the pieces of ice across the deck in some sort of game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon opens the gate for me when we get there and stands there to let the sailors pass as well. Among them is Nicodemus. He looks frightened and all of them are speaking in swift, hushed tones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boiler room six is flooded eight feet and the mail hold is worse.” I hear one of them say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you shore up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not unless the pumps get ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you seen the damage in the mail hold?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, she’s already underwater.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is bad.” Simon grabs my hand and pulls me closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No kidding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should go tell your family.” He strokes his thumb across my knuckles and I turn my head to look at him. His eyebrows are scrunched up in the middle and I want to reach up to smooth it out but instead I just nod and start leading him back through the ship to my room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re making our way back to Baz’s room and I start to feel like maybe I shouldn’t have come along. Baz’s family hates me. Plus I should probably go tell Penny about this too. But we’re already approaching his room so it’s too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The valet who was chasing earlier is there waiting for us at the hallway entrance with an unamused look on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been looking for you, sir.” He nods to Baz, not even glancing my direction. Already I regret coming back with him. But I force myself to take a deep breath and stay focused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sight that awaits me in Baz’s room almost makes me gasp but I press my lips together and hold it in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My drawings are all strewn about across the floor, some of them crinkled up, most on the ground near Lamb’s feet. Anger burns in my throat and I can feel my pulse quicken. The Master-at-Arms is back, the same one from the night I was almost charged with assault, and he’s brought other men with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can feel Baz tense next to me when he realizes who they are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room stills when Baz and I step forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something serious has happened.” Baz starts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it has.” Lamb stands up. “Two things dear to me have disappeared tonight. Now that one of them is back, I think I have a pretty good idea where to find the other one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know what he’s trying to pull here. Baz’s grip on my hand tightens as Lamb looks me up and down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Search him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two men who work for the Master-at-Arms yank me away from Baz and rip my coat off, patting down my pockets and sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lamb, what are you doing? This is absurd! We’re in the middle of an emergency.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz's fiancé is unphased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look behind me to find one of the men holding up a necklace. Baz’s necklace…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they just took it out of the coat I'd been wearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>horseshit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” I look to Baz for backup but he just stares at me, mouth hanging open, searching my eyes. “Don't believe them, Baz.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He couldn’t have. He was with me the whole time.” He takes a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. The two men have grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is mental. This has to be some kind of set up. I didn’t steal shit. The last time I saw the necklace was when I put it back in the safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He could. Easy enough for a professional.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But- but he was with me the whole time.” Baz stutters. He never stutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps he did it when you were putting your clothes back </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span>, darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My blood is boiling. I feel like I might explode. How <em>dare</em> he talk to Baz like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Real slick, Lamb.” Baz isn’t looking at me, looking everywhere except me to be exact. I try to move toward him but the two men yank me back. “Those guys put it in my pocket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t even your pocket," the valet cuts in, "is it?” My stomach drops. “Property of A.L. Ryerson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he would notice that. I had almost forgotten. I snatched the coat and a hat so I could sneak into first class to see Baz. How could I have been so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t read Baz’s face anymore. He’s put up a cold mask. I only saw that look once before. I can see it in his eyes though. He looks shattered. How could he believe them after everything? It’s like all that’s happened in the past few hours meant nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pang in my chest at the thought that I might’ve just lost his trust. I might never see him again. All because of something I didn't do. Except, maybe they're right. I am a thief. It's what I do. It's just natural. It's how I get by. But I only stole the coat so I could see Baz. I meant to put it back, I was just so upset I didn't think before going back to my room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look to him, pleading silently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take him away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” I try to rip away from the men restraining me but they’re already dragging me away. “Baz, please. You</span>
  <em>
    <span> know</span>
  </em>
  <span> I didn’t do it. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think I might be crying now but I don’t care. They’re angry, hot tears as I’m pulled away from Baz. He’s still not looking at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And I think that hurts even more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. I let my guard down. He broke down my walls in mere seconds and I was so blind that I couldn’t even see. How could I have been so naïve?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I knew where he came from, I knew how he grew up. I should've seen this coming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then why does it feel so </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Master-at-Arms left the room when Simon was dragged away, and Williams followed after them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it’s just me and Lamb. I can’t look at him, too ashamed of what I’ve done. I don’t even have to see him to know he’s angry. I can feel it radiate off of him as he leans against the doorframe, even though he’s acting calm. I know this is just a calm before the storm. I cross my arms in an attempt to look confident, despite how broken I feel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you see now, Basil?” I feel his cold hand caress my cheek. His hands are always cold, not like Simon’s. “I was only trying to protect you from the inevitable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe I should’ve listened to him and father. I shouldn’t have let it go on so long. I should never have let Fiona talk me into doing something so foolish as going back to him. It was doomed from the beginning. I should've known this would end in flames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t trust people like him.” He starts combing his hand through my hair, long since ruined by Simon’s hands. I feel dirty and used. <em>Empty</em>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People like him take advantage of people like us. And you wonder why first class is off limits to third class.” He spits. “It’s for our protection, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I think. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should’ve known better</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, I think back to the party. I think back to the couples and the friends. Man, wife, and child. They live differently than us, sure. But they don’t let life pass them by, they savor every second of it. They work each and every day just to be able to wake up the next one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re just people.” I hiss under my breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?” He let’s go of my hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re just people.” I raise my head to look him in the eyes. He tenses. His eye twitches and his lip juts out in a snarl. I know what’s coming. But it’s still a shock to feel his cold hand strike across my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> defend them, you slut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My cheek burns and I keep my face turned away. I don’t want him to see the tears threatening to spill over my eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me when I’m talking to you, goddammit.” He shakes me by the shoulders but I don’t dare to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a knock at the door but I can barely hear it over the ringing in my ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whoever knocks doesn’t wait for permission. “Sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now, we’re busy.” He barks. I feel his grip on my shoulders tighten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, I’ve been told to ask you to please put on your lifebelts and come up to the boat deck.” It’s one of the stewards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said, not now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to inconvenience you, sir, but it’s captain’s orders.” The steward walks past us and takes the white lifebelts from the closet. “Now please, dress warmly. It’s quite cold out tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lamb curses all the way to the grand stairs about having been forced out of his room while Daphne chides him for his language. My family disregarded the suggestion to wear lifebelts, claiming that the crewmen were overreacting and just following a ridiculous protocol, and that they would be back in their rooms in no time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I even hear Daphne ask the maids to go turn the heaters back on in our rooms and prepare cups of tea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t really know what’s going on anymore, but when I overheard those men talking about the damage to the ship, it didn’t sound good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room is crowded with people, very few actually having put on their lifebelts. Among them, I spot a familiar head of slicked back gray-blonde hair. “Nicodemus,” I try to get his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns to me and I see fear in his eyes. “I saw the iceberg and I see it in your eyes. Tell me the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He considers me for a moment then pulls me off to the side. He looks terrified. His movements are jerky and quick like he’s trying not to show panic. “The ship... will sink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel my heart sink and the air leave my body. “You’re certain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. “In an hour or so, all of this will be under the Atlantic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hear Lamb let out a small gasp behind me. I don’t know what I expected to hear, but I suppose I was holding on to some small shred of hope that he would say that it’s all okay. That they’re just following protocol like Lamb said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of this… will be gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get to a boat. Don’t wait. Remember what I told you about the boats?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. Half of the people on this ship will be dead by morning. Half the people, including Simon.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. shoot an apple off my head</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am so bad at writing actions. I'm so much better at writing feelings. So, I apologize if this chapter is a bit choppy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water outside the porthole is rising fast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two men who dragged me in here left a while ago, leaving me with that guy Williams. The one who I’m certain put the goddamn necklace in my pocket to begin with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s got his gun on his knee as he rolls one of the bullets back and forth on the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a bastard.” I hiss at him. If my hands weren’t cuffed to a pipe right now, I would punch him,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you really think you could get away with it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get away with what? You and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> know that I didn’t steal that necklace.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe.” He rolls the bullet up the table again and watches as it rolls back to him. It’s driving me insane. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you did steal from Lamb.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t–” I start, but then I realize what he means. “Baz is not an object, he’s a person, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>chose</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really? Because from here, it looks like you manipulated him in order to steal that necklace and then he finally saw who you really were and left you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t say anything. What’s the point? Nothing I say will change what happens. My skin feels like it’s on fire. The metal cuffs dig further into my wrists and threaten to burn me. I feel like screaming. I feel like crying. I think I might die here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least I have comfort in knowing that Baz will have more of a chance of getting off this ship without me. He’s probably already boarding a lifeboat with his family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I do believe, this ship may sink.” He picks up the bullet and clicks it back into the barrel of his pistol. “Good luck.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re only taking women and children on the boats now. That means father, Lamb, and I are out of luck for now, but we go anyway to help Daphne and Fiona to the boats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cold night air nips at the tips of my fingers and my nose. There are passengers lined up all along down the ship, waiting for a lifeboat. The quartet is playing on the deck. My guess is to make sure there’s no panic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re playing ‘Wedding Dance’, a piece I learned when I was younger. It’s ironic. That piece probably would’ve played at my wedding with Lamb, and now it’s playing as the ship that was supposed to take me to said wedding sinks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will the lifeboats be seated according to class?” I hear my stepmother ask the ship crew. I know she only means it innocently, but it’s what my father says next that pushes me over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope it’s not too crowded.” He scoffs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh both of you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut up</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” I snap. “Don’t you understand? The water is freezing and there aren’t enough boats. Half the people on this ship are going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not the better half.” Lamb hisses under his breath. I scoff at that. Then he turns to me. “You know it’s a pity I didn’t keep that drawing. It’ll be worth a lot more by morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A smug smile pulls at the corners of his lips and my heart drops.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Simon</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did this on purpose. He wasn’t trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>protect </span>
  </em>
  <span>me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They took him away, probably locked him away. He won’t be able to escape, not if they’ve chained him up somewhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How did I not see before? Simon would never do that. How would he have? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> would he have? He didn’t even know about the necklace until I showed him in the room. He snuck into first class just to see me and make sure I was okay. He cared. He cared about me long before I showed him the necklace. How could I be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was so scared that what Simon and I had would go away that I sabotaged myself. I sabotaged </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was like I was so anxious just waiting for something to come along and ruin my happiness that I just took the smallest excuse to run away and went with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You unimaginable bastard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without even a glance back at my family, I turn and start walking. I have to find Simon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Lamb grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around. “To </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes to him. Always to him. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m not going to let my prior ignorance screw that up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A whore to a gutter rat?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d rather be his whore than your husband.” Then I take my swing. His face is open, his jaw slack. My fist lands hard on the side of his jaw and I use it as my chance to get away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I push my way through the crowds and make my way to the grand stairs where I last saw Nicodemus. He would know where they’re keeping Simon. I have to find him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thank god he didn’t stray too far from the stairs, I find him down one of the first class hallways, telling everyone to put on a lifebelt and head to the lifeboats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Baz, what are you doing here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where would the Master-at-Arms put someone under arrest?” I demand, ignoring his question. I don’t have time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should be at the boats.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re not taking men at this time. Please, I need to find someone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks hesitant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m doing this with or without your help. But without will take longer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” he sighs. “Take the elevator all the way to the bottom. Go to the left. There’ll be a crew passage. Then go right and left again at the stairs. You’ll come to a long corridor. That’s where they keep passengers under arrest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I thank him briefly and start running to the elevators.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I have to get to Simon before it’s too late.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I repeat the directions over and over in my head to make sure I don’t forget.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon must hate me. He probably doesn’t even want to see me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I told him I trusted him, and when my trust in him was the most important, I betrayed him. I let him get taken away for something he didn’t even do. And I knew he didn’t do it. Deep down, I knew. That’s why it all felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He might hate me, but I will be damned if that boy goes down with this ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like everywhere else on this goddamn ship, the elevator area is crowded. I could care less about being polite right now so I shove my way between people until I get to an elevator.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry sir, but the lifts are closed right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bullshit.” I shove the man into the lift and demand he take me down. “E deck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully he’s too shocked to ask questions and just starts cranking the lift to go down. I watch as we pass each floor all the way down to the E deck. I see it before I feel it. The water has already flooded the floor of the E deck. It comes rushing into the elevator with us.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh shit.” I gasp at how cold the water is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going back up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” I shove him away and push the lift gates open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re crazy. I’m going back up, I’m going back up.” He shuts the gate behind me and leaves me down here. Well there goes our ride out. Guess we’ll be taking the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I go left and start wading through the water. It’s almost up to my knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crew passage. Crew passage. Where’s the crew passage?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I keep going until I find a hallway with a gold plaque above that reads crew only.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This must be it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I keep going. What were the instructions? Right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes. Right and then left at the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I keep making my way through the hallways until I find the stairs. I go down and come to a long corridor. This has to be it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Snow!” I scream. He could be in any of these rooms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One way down the corridor is significantly more flooded than the other way. Thankfully the way left is the one less flooded. I take a deep breath and step into the waist deep water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Snow!” I scream again. “Simon!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m desperate now, screaming out his name as loud as I can.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m just about to give up when I hear a faint call.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I move towards it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Simon!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Baz! I’m in here!” I hear it clearly as I pass one of the rooms on the left side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door’s not locked so I push the door open and I think I might cry in relief of seeing those bronze curls and blue eyes staring back at me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Simon,” I breathe. I walk through the water as fast as I can. “Simon, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I grab his face and kiss him hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That guy Williams put it in my pocket.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, I know. I know. I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s okay. You came back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m so happy to see him I could cry. I would hug him if I wasn’t handcuffed to a pipe right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s get you out of here, yeah?” His hand caresses my cheek and I just about melt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” I nod. “There should be a key somewhere. Check that cabinet over there. It’s small and silver.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I motion towards the wall of keys on the opposite wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water is less than knee deep but it’s rising fast. He wades through to the wall of keys and starts looking. He’s already soaked waist down. All he has under his coat is that damn sheer lavender shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I never thought I would see him again. I’d already given up on trying to get out of here. It was pointless. I already tried breaking the chain with the pipe and screaming until my throat was raw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re all brass ones!”  He looks frantic and on the verge of tears, throwing the brass keys to the water below.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Maybe check the drawers in the desk.” I suggest. He yanks to drawer out of the desk, ripping it straight off its track. “Hey, how’d you find out I didn’t do it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops looking in the drawers and looks up at me with a lopsided grin. “I didn’t. I just realized I already knew.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I smile at that. God, this man will be the death of me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He goes back to looking for the key, yanking out each drawer with far more force than necessary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no key,” he growls in frustration. “What do we do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay um–” I didn’t think this far ahead. “Maybe we can use force to break the chain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should go look in the hall for something to hit the chain with. Probably something metal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” He wades back over to me and gives me a quick kiss. It’s a little messy and lands just on the corner of my lips but I love it nonetheless. At least if I die here I’ll die after having kissed Baz one last time. “I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll wait here.” I call as he leaves the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Idiot.” He echoes back, his voice shaky. I laugh and climb up to the horizontal pipe so I’m not standing in freezing water while I wait for him to get back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something metal. Probably sharp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I run down the halls yelling in case anyone can hear me and help. No one’s here. The halls are completely empty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ship creaks and the lights flicker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can barely breathe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s this tight feeling in my chest but I try to ignore it. The ship is sinking. I need to get Simon out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something metal, something metal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I yell out again when I reach the end of a hallway. I really hope I can find my way back. I turn back to try to memorize where I came from and then turn down another hallway. It’s not much help. All the hallways look the bloody same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as I’m about to turn down another hallway, I see one of the stewards rushing towards me with an armful of lifebelts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sir!” I call.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing here, boy? Come with me.” He grabs my arm and starts dragging me. He’s dragging me away from Simon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let go of me!” I try to wrench away from his grasp but he has a tight grip on my wrist. “I need help! There’s a man down there and he needs my help!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not stopped talking since he started dragging me. He’s stronger than me. I don’t think he’s listening. “Let go of me!” I grip my nails at his hand around my wrist but he doesn’t let go. “Listen!” I scream and before I can even think my fist comes up and punches the guy right in the face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It gets him to release my wrist though. He curses at me and runs off, leaving me there panting against the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where the hell am I supposed to find something that can break a chain?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then I remember.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s an emergency axe. I saw one when the man was dragging me down the hall but it didn’t register at the time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I run back to where I saw it. There’s a hose on the wall next to it and I can’t help but to laugh at the irony. They were more prepared for a fire than a sinking ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I swing the metal end of the hose through the glass case. One of the glass shards cuts the back of my hand but I ignore it. As soon as I’ve got the axe in my hands I’m running back down the hallway. I don’t know how I get back. I don’t think about it, I just know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water level has risen significantly on the stairs. The corridor is almost fully submerged in water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to get back to him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I throw off my coat so I can move through the water easier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon was right, it really does feel like a hundred knives stabbing you in the chest. My breath is almost completely stolen from me as I sink my chest into the water. My feet barely reach the ground so I use the pipes on the ceiling to pull myself through the water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water level thankfully isn’t so high at the end of the corridor where Simon is but it’s still waist deep and rising fast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pet name makes my heart beat faster, and if I had any warm blood left in me I’m sure it’d be rising to my cheeks. How he manages to be so calm right now astounds me.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s completely soaked up to his shoulders when he comes back, his coat gone. His lips are already blue and his skin is impossibly pale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will this work?” He holds up a red axe in his hand and I’m hit with a shocking realization.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit we’re actually doing this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” I breathe, trying to stay calm. Panicking is not going to help right now. “That’ll work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wades over, axe in hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait wait wait, do some practice swings over there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods and goes over to a wood cabinet. His first swing with the axe lands in the middle of the cabinet door, and I think this might work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, now hit that same spot again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks nervous as he brings the axe over his shoulder again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can do it, love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swings and manages to hit the door again, but this time about six inches to the right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can feel the water rising up my body and I can’t seem to care about his aim. I might loose my hands, but we don’t have time for this. “Okay, that’s enough practice, come here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you thick? I’ll chop your hands off with an aim like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you won’t. I trust you.” He gives me a hesitant look but comes back over nonetheless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Make sure to keep your hands far apart on the handle for more control.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods and listens, placing his hands further apart on the handle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Breathe,” I say to him, though I’m also telling myself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brings the axe up over his head and I turn away, placing my hands as far apart as they can go. I can’t watch. This is insane what we’re doing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I wait and prepare for the pain to come. I wait for the blood to come pouring out of my wrists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it never does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a clink of metal on metal and the only sensation I feel on my hands is relief. The chain broke. The chain broke, and my hands are still intact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I turn back to Baz and his eyes are closed. He just did that with his eyes closed, the prick. But I can’t be mad at him. His eyes come open half a second later and when he looks down and realizes that both my hands are still intact, he laughs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I laugh too and bring both arms around him like I wanted to do when I first saw him walk in here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You crazy son of a bitch. I can’t believe you did that.” I pull back to press my lips against his. It’s shocking how cold they feel against mine. “Come on, we have to get out of here.” I decide, pulling away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When we get to the corridor, the water level is almost to our chests. I try to ignore the feeling of the icy water soaking into my shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One end of the corridor is completely underwater. Most likely because the ship is tilted more that way, I think absently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s where I came from.” He gasps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we can’t go that way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know that.” Baz hisses. His teeth are chattering and I can see he’s shaking. “Come on, we have to find another way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I follow him down the other end of the corridor to find a staircase leading to the upper level. It’s a very dark and narrow staircase and the door on the top of the staircase is closed and locked shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We try the handle and it doesn’t budge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got anything we can pick the lock with?” Baz shoots over his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I check my pockets, even though I know anything I’d had in them would’ve been confiscated by the Master-at-Arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” he breathes. “Guess we’ll just have to use brute force.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I watch as he rolls his shoulders back and cracks his neck in show. “Tosser,” I snigger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad you think this situation is funny.” He motions back down the stairs where the water is now rising up the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” I nod. “On three?” I step up next to him. The stairway is so narrow we can barely fit standing next to each other. The landing is only about a meter long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One, two, three!” We both run at the door at the same time, using the impact of our shoulders to break through the door. I’m glad we only had to do that once because I’m pretty sure I’m gonna end up with a nasty bruise later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We’re moving as soon as we make it into the corridor. Luckily, this seems to be the corridor where the main stairs are to the top deck. Thankfully, this side of the ship isn’t flooded yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We follow the crowds to the main stairwell. There’s a large group of people standing around it. There’s shouting and chaos. Nobody seems to be let through. They’re all just pushing and shoving each other, but I’m not close enough to see what’s happening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amidst the chaos of passengers shoving and yelling, I see a head of curly brunette hair and I know exactly who I’m looking at. As soon as she sees me, she’s running towards us. Shepard follows close behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Simon!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Penny!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She jumps on me and squeezes me tight. I’m surprised I don’t fall backwards. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets go of me and looks Baz and I up and down. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>soaked.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No time to explain,” Baz cuts in. “What’s going on here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re not letting anyone up, not even women and children. One of them pulled a gun.” Shepard explains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. We’ll just have to find another way.” Baz huffs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing this way.” Shepard points down to the end of the hall Baz and I just came from.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then we’ll go the other way.” I decide. I reach my hand out behind me and Baz takes it. Together, we shove our way through the crowds at the bottom of the stairwell with Penny and Shepard close behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t really know where I’m going, I just follow the signs that seem promising and no one seems to question it. Baz is squeezing my hand tighter than necessary but I’m not complaining. It reminds me that he’s here. He came back. I didn’t screw up as bad as I thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now that I’ve got this second chance, there’s no way I’m letting us die on this ship. There’s so much more I want to do with him, so much more I want to show him if he let’s me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At some point, Baz tugs back on my hand and pulls me into a smaller stairwell. I must have missed it. There are some people at the top, but not many. They’re blocked off by a black metal gate. We’re never gonna get off this bloody ship.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon pushes past me and takes the stairs two at a time, I follow close behind him. Bunce is behind me along with the other boy, whom I don’t know the name of. She puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes. It’s an odd gesture seeing as we don’t know each other very well, but it’s comforting nonetheless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Open the gate.” Simon demands when he reaches the top.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go back down the main stairwell. It’ll all be sorted out there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Open the gate.” He says again, louder this time, as if to get it through the guy’s thick skull.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go back down the main stairwell.” He repeats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon’s shaking now. I can see his shoulders tense. “Open the gate, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He yells.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go back down the main stairwell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon turns to me, fuming. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath and I swear I can see steam coming from his ears. I try to reach out to calm him down but he whips back to the gate before I do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You son of a bitch!” He screams and pulls on the gates. They rattle in his fists but don’t budge. The passengers around him gasp and take a step back. I stay put, my hand still outreached towards him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets go of the gate with a growl and when he turns back, he has a look of determination in his eyes which, under different circumstances would be incredibly hot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before I know it, he’s grabbing hold of a bench in the corner of the room and trying to yank it out from the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I never thought I’d say it, but he’s a genius. We’ll use the bench as a battering ram to get through the gates. It’s an absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane</span>
  </em>
  <span> idea but it might just work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shepard and I go over to help him. With three strong pulls, the legs of the bench rip out from the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penny works on moving the passengers out of the way so we’ll have a place to run.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It all happens so fast. On the count of three we’re all running forward with the bench over our shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first strike hits but only makes a dent in the middle of the gate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Again!” Simon yells.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time the gate topples to the ground from the force. It creaks as it goes down, the lock completely broken apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The people behind us cheer as we push through the gates and shove the guards to the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a genius, mate!” Shepard yells to Simon as we run down the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t let it get to his head.” I shoot back. We slow down as we near the exit and Simon turns to me with his tongue stuck out and his nose scrunched up. His bronze curls are frizzy and sticking up every which way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks ridiculous. I can’t believe I fell for this idiot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I didn’t actually realize how far gone I am for him. I think if given the chance, I would follow this bloke to the ends of the Earth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next set of stairs leads up to the main deck. We come out near where they’re loading people onto boats. There’s barely any room to stand on the deck. Everyone’s pushing and shoving each other. I try to take Simon’s hand but before I can, I’m being shoved from behind. I wind up stumbling face first into one of the passengers. I step back to apologize and feel the air leave my lungs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Basil! Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere, darling. You had me worried.” Lamb yanks me into his chest and squeezes me tight. “You look a fright.” He says, pulling away. “Here, put this on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls his coat off and puts it on me. The wool is scratchy against my wrists but at least it’s warmer than my silk shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Baz?” I hear Simon call behind me. I turn away from Lamb and take his hand in mine, not caring that Lamb is watching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Basil, I made a deal with one of the boatmen. They’ll let us on the boat down there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What? A deal? He made a deal to get us on a boat?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can’t leave without Simon though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” I refuse. “I’m not going without Snow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I feel him squeeze my hand. “It’s okay, Baz. Shepard, Penny, and I will find our own way off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m not leaving without him. I refuse. There’s not enough boats to take everyone. Half the people on this ship won’t make it on a boat, let alone a third-class boy with no family. After everything that’s happened, how can I leave him to that fate?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Simon. I’m not leaving without you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” He brings his hand up to rest on my cheek. “We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’m a survivor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You won’t find a boat. There’s not enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll find one. I promise. You have to take this opportunity, Baz. You have a way off this ship. Take it. I’ll meet you in New York. It won’t be goodbye forever.” He rubs his thumb under my eye and I realize that I’d been crying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s right, Basil.” Lamb interjects. “I heard they’re going to be letting men on soon on the other end of the ship. Just come with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s lying. I know he is. They would never let men on without the women and children being boarded first. Lamb must have paid a big sum of money to get us on a boat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine, Baz.” He squeezes my hand again and gives me a small smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lamb places his hand on my shoulder and starts to pull me away. I feel numb as I’m dragged away from him. I hold his hand for as long as I can, until the tips of our fingers are the only thing that reach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he’s no longer in reach, I finally turn away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’ll find a way off this ship. I’ll have to believe it. He’s a survivor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Each step I take away from him feels heavy, like I’m pulling weights around my ankles. The same weights I felt when I got on this ship. He’s the only one who’s been able to make me forget about those weights. When I’m with him, I feel lighter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boat is already almost full when we get there, my father seated in the middle. He doesn’t look at me as I get in the boat behind Lamb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as they finish boarding the women and children into the boat, they start to lower it. There’s an uncomfortable lump in my throat as I look at all the passengers watching our boat descend. A sea of women and children who could’ve been on this boat instead of us. Then when I look further down, I see blue eyes staring back at me.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penny’s hand comes up to my shoulder as I watch him board the boat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It pains me to let him go back to that bastard, but at least he’ll get off this ship. That’s what’s most important.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I know my chances of getting off this ship are slim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t need to know that though. When Lamb said they were going to start letting men on soon, I knew he was lying. He was lying so that Baz would be more inclined to leave me. I’m grateful that at least he helped me convince Baz to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lying to Baz feels wrong, but when I finally meet his eyes as he descends into the water below, I know I’ve made the right decision. He’ll live.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe when he gets to New York, he’ll get himself out. He can run away and have a fresh start in America. That’s all I want for him. Even if it’s not with me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hell, even if he does end up marrying Lamb, at least he’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As I watch him descend, I try to remember his features. I try to memorize the color of his eyes. They’re like the color of cement after it’s just rained. They’re so pretty, I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes like his before. They’re grey but they’re so expressive and I think I could stare into them for hours without getting bored.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I try to memorize the way his hair falls around his face in waves. He wore it loose tonight, how I like it. I like to think he did that for me. I told him once that I liked it better like that, when I was walking him back to first class the night of the party. He teased me for it, but we were both drunk so he probably doesn’t even remember.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks like he’s crying. I give him an encouraging smile and hope he can’t see through my facade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The descent down is slow and excruciating but I can’t look away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks away from me and when he looks back, I know something isn’t right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I watch as he clenches and unclenches his fists in his lap. Then I blink and he’s standing, making the boat rock slightly. There are screams from the passengers in the boat and Lamb reaches to grab his hand and pull him back down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s he doing?” Penny whispers next to me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I shake my head, not believing what I’m seeing as I watch Baz wretch away from his fiance’s grip and jump out onto the side of the ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I lean over the railing to see him hanging off the side of the ship from the floor below. A few men help and pull him inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t know what I’m doing, but once I make the decision, there’s no turning back. As soon as I make it back onto the ship, I’m running. I can hear my father’s screams behind me but I block them out. I just keep running.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I run and then I see him at the bottom of the grand stairs and I run faster until I’m barrelling into his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck, Baz?” He wheezes. “Why the hell did you do that?” His hands are in my hair as he squeezes me against him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so stupid,” I feel his lips press into my hair. “You’re so clever, Baz. Why would you do something so stupid?” He’s rambling so I shut him up with my lips on his. He sighs into my mouth and pulls my bottom lip in between his. At least if I’ve doomed myself, I’ll have gotten to kiss Simon one last time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You jump, I jump, right?” I say as he pulls away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs softly and leans his forehead against mine. “Right,” he breaths against my lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kisses me once quickly and then shoves his face into the crook of my neck, wrapping his arms around my back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t leave you, I just couldn’t.” I confess, nestling my face in his hair. I can smell whatever cheap shampoo he uses. It’s mixed with sweat and salt water but it still smells like </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He squeezes me harder as I wrap my arms around his waist. “It’s alright,” he says. “We’ll find a way off. Together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I smile to myself. That’s all I can ask for. To be together.  Because within these past few days I’ve managed to fall hopelessly in love with this boy, and as long as I have him, I’ll be okay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s just the two of us.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The noise around us fades and there’s a moment of peace before I hear it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gun shot.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>;))</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. trouble that can't be named</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The ship sinks.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My first instinct when I hear the gunshot, is to bring my hand up protectively around Simon’s head. I can't figure out where it's come from until I look up and see slicked back auburn hair and dark eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s gone mad. I knew he’d be angry, but I didn’t think he’d pull a gun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He aims the gun again. “Move!” I shout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We both scramble out of the way as the bullet hits the railing we’d just been in front of. I grab Simon’s hand as we sprint down the next set of stairs. My feet are tripping over each other and Simon's stumbling behind me. My heart is racing. I can hear him running close behind, his shoes making distinct clacks on the polished floors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only way we can go is down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We keep going until we get to the dinner hall. I freeze when we step down from the last step. It’s all flooded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just last night we were dining in this very hall, and now it’s half underwater.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon tugs on my arm when we hear the gunshot behind us.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We wade through the water as fast as we can, pushing chairs and tables out of our way. At least if we go through the water, he won’t follow us. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That gives me a small hope as we run through the water, gunshots firing behind us. One bullet shoots straight through the dining hall window, shattering it. At least he has shite aim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Each shot of the gun makes my heart beat faster. At some point, the gun stops firing, but we don’t stop running. I can hear him splashing behind us and I wouldn’t be surprised if he came after us with his bare hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water hasn’t reached the far end of the dining hall yet. We find the nearest exit and keep running until we’ve found a secluded corner around some stairs that lead down to the next deck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Simon hisses, trying to catch his breath against the wall. “He’s gone mental.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can’t help but agree.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should we wait him out?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I shake my head. “No. By the time he’s gone, the whole dining room will have flooded. We’ll have to find another way out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We hop down into the water that’s pooled in the hallway. It’s barely two inches high. The only thing keeping this hallway from flooding are a set of doors at the end of the corridor. Water is spilling out of the seams and onto the floor. There’s water leaking from the sealing and now following us down the stairs we just came from. This place is a ticking time bomb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which way?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither way looks promising, but we can’t turn back now. I’d rather be as far from the flooded doors as possible. There are a few offshoots down the other way that might have stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll go this way.” I answer. “Let’s hurry. Those doors could burst at any moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon nods and starts off down the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first two offshoots aren’t very promising. One is a long narrow hallway housing all the third-class sleeping units. The other is another locked gate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s only one more offshoot this way and it’s once again blocked off by a gate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck.” I hiss, running my fingers through my now damp hair. It’s freezing down here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have to go back the way we came, Baz. It’s the only way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon starts walking back the way we came. Something doesn’t feel right about it. The ship creaks and the lights flicker as if to give us a sign. That’s when I notice one of the hinges on the doors pop loose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Simon!” I scream. “Don’t go that way!” I’m screaming and running but he’s already gotten so far down the hall I can’t reach him in time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He whips around, fear and confusion in his eyes. I don’t think he realizes what’s about to happen. It feels like everything happens in slow motion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last of the door hinges pops off. When the water bursts through the doors, he starts running. I’m frozen in place as I watch him try to outrun the water. As soon as he gets back to me, I’m running too. I grab his hand and we run down the hallway we found earlier. The water is roaring behind us. I can feel it licking at our heels. The cold water sprays our backs and makes us run impossibly faster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I know we won’t be able to outrun it. My feet are going numb from the cold, but I still run. I run until the water crashes against us and we go barreling down the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In some moment of clarity I see a way out. There’s a stairway near the end of the hall and as we go past it, I reach out and grab for the railing with my free hand. I barely manage to grab hold of it. My wrist pops with the force of the water trying to push me down the hall. Simon is holding onto my hand and I feel as if I’m being stretched in half.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the power of the water dulls, I hull myself into the stairwell with all the strength I have in me and then help Simon in with strength I didn’t know I had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We’re both properly soaked now. His bronze curls have lost their volume and are now sticking against his forehead. My mouth is salty and cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The top of the stairs lead to another black gate, similar to the one we broke through before. Except this time, there’s no bench.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water on the stairs is rising quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit.” Simon hisses. We both grab hold of the gate and try to rip it open, screaming and hoping someone will hear us. Oh god, we’re going to die here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water reaches up to our ankles and we start screaming louder. I’ve never felt so terrified in my life. I’m usually so far above screaming for help but now I do so without even thinking about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A man in a white comes sprinting around the corner. He’s a steward. He has to have the keys to all the gates.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon is screaming at him, pleading. I can see tears forming in his eyes and it must make the man feel bad because he turns back and takes out his keys, shaking his head at himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands are shaking as he tests each of his keys on the gate. He’s not going fast enough. The water is up to our knees now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon is yelling at him to hurry. His voice is rough from screaming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of the keys the guy tries are working. He’s shaking so much, you’d think there was an earthquake on the ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water reaches up to the lock and the steward curses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dropped the keys. I’m so sorry. I have to–”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guy turns back and runs. Bastard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can hear Simon yelling at him to come back as I dive under the water to retrieve the keys the guy dropped. I open my eyes underwater but I can barely see anything and the cold salt water stings my eyes. I reach through the gate for the keys blindly. I pat my hand against the floor until I feel metal. I grab and I pull them through the gate with me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When I come back up, the water has already reached our shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you get them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. “Which one do you think it is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I- uh- shit. Try the short one. That’s the only one he didn’t use.” Simon stammers. He may be an idiot, but he’s an observant idiot. I could kiss him if we weren’t fighting for our lives right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I reach around the other side of the gate with the keys. I try to insert the key but miss. It’s like trying to fit a thread through a needle without being able to see where the eye of it is. I try to feel around for it but even when I find it, I can’t find the same spot with the key. The water is up to our chins now and I’m starting to panic. Simon is yelling at me to hurry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m trying. I’m sorry, love, I’m trying.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lights are flashing on and off and the cold water bites at my skin. This can’t be how we die. I refuse to let him die here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I reach out and find the key hole again and this time, the key clicks in place. I let out a laugh of relief. “I got it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I turn the key and the gate opens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water pushes us forward through the gate and across to the stairs. We pull ourselves out of the water and find ourselves in the smoke room, which is miraculously dry. It still smells like smoke from this evening’s guests, be it a little stale and mixed with salt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” I ask when we’ve both caught our breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he sighs. “I think the universe is trying to kill us though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, I think that’s just your fiancé.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs at that. I’m glad to see him smile again. It’s a small comfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, we gotta get off this ship.” I take his hand and we keep running. The ship is tilted significantly so it’s a bit difficult to run, like running up a hill. It’s a little off-putting. It feels unnatural that the ship is tilted like this. Which, I guess it is, but it’s still a lot to wrap your head around. When it was upright, you could almost pretend you weren’t in a moving ship. The ship made its own little glittery gold world within’ its walls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can’t believe how quickly things escalated. Just a few hours ago, I was running around the ship with Baz, kissing him against walls and cars and laughing together. Just a few hours ago, I held Baz on the front of the ship, which is now completely submerged. I kissed him there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the iceberg hit and everything happened so quickly. It’s not even been an hour and so far I’ve had to break out of handcuffs, been chased by a man with a gun, and almost drowned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are no more boats.” I hear him say next to me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We need to stay on this ship as long as possible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. “Maybe we should look for Penny.” I lost her when I ran after Baz. I need to make sure she’s okay. I need to make sure she got on a boat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baz turns to me with sad eyes. “Love, we don’t have time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I know he’s right. If we spend time looking for them, we won’t have enough time to make it to the back of the ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” I nod.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ship creaks under our feet and we turn to see the front sinking faster and faster into the water. People are running up the ship all around us. Baz pulls on my hand and we join in the stampede of passengers trying to get to the other end of the ship. I try to look for Penny as we run, but it’s all a blur of people. She could be anywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People have crowded the entry and exit ways between the different sections of the ship so we end up jumping over the rails into the other class areas. I can hear screams behind us and it makes my heart race even faster. It doesn’t help that the lights keep flickering on and off around us.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I tighten my grip on Baz’s hand as he shoves between the panicking crowd of people.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People are starting to jump off the sides of the ship, probably in hopes that a lifeboat will let them on. Though I don’t see any of the lifeboats close by, which concerns me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crowds begin to thin out when we near the top of the ship. We pass a pastor as he recites a prayer to a group of people, and I’m starting to get a new perspective on our situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We might die. These might be my last moments.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>These people have already given up the fight, simply praying for safe passage to heaven.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baz and I won’t give up that easily, I’ll see to it. We’ll both make it out of this alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s impossible to just walk up the deck now. It’s tilted to the point where we have to grab onto railings to get up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are people slipping as they try to climb, some are even crawling to get to the back of the ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baz and I make a run for the top of the ship, using our momentum so that we don’t fall backwards. He pulls me up against the back railing and I grip onto the rail like my life depends on it (it does).</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon turns his face to look at me and I’m starstruck all over again. His eyes are so beautifully blue, and even in the dim light I can see his freckles sweeping across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. At least if these are really my last moments, I get to spend them looking at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly he laughs and I don’t know what he finds so funny about this situation, but I don’t ask. I just let the sweet sound of it envelope me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Baz,” he starts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is where we first met.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I huff. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s right and I almost laugh at the irony. Instead I just pull him close to me as his laughs die out into panicked breathing. I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. He’s terrified, but then so am I.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s got one arm wrapped around my torso and the other holding onto the rail behind us. His head is tucked beneath my chin so I kiss him there, right on top of his head. His curls get in my mouth but I can’t bring myself to care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of the passengers reach for something to hold on to and those who don’t, slide down the floor of the ship, taking others with them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every which way there are people jumping off the sides of the ship. Don’t they know they’ll get themselves killed doing that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All at once, the ship shudders and the lights go out. And this time, they don’t come back on. I try to see what’s going on but everything is dark, all I can see is the water below us reflecting the light of the full moon. I feel more than see the ship sinking. It’s like a seesaw, except the water weighing the ship down is much heavier than us, and we’re being brought to the very tipping point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hear wires snap and waves crash. The ship is falling apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can feel Simon’s grip around me tighten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The night is quiet save for the screams and cries of terrified souls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ship is nearly vertical when there’s a sickening crack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s going back down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s happening?” I can feel his shuddering breath against my collarbone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know, love.” I bring one of my hands up and bury it in his hair to keep him close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ship gives a ghostly groan as it starts crashing back down onto the water. My stomach rises from my abdomen to my throat. My heart feels like it’s going to burst. I don’t realize I’m breathing heavy until Simon is whispering in my ear to try to calm me down. I can hear the panic in his voice as he tells me it’s going to be okay. That we’re going to be alright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His breath hitches as the ship drops into the water, bobbing up and down before stopping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a moment of peace. The screaming stops. Everyone is holding their breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, the ship starts rising to the top of its see-saw, much faster than it had been before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have to move.” I make sure Simon has a hold on the railing with both hands before I lift myself over the other side of the railing. “Come on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes my hand and pulls himself over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not even been a minute before the ship has gone completely vertical. Half the ship is already lost to the atlantic. Now it’s our turn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s another moment of peace. It’s like the universe is teasing us. Putting us in suspense and delaying the inevitable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the ship starts sinking, there’s nothing left to do but hold tight and wait.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I reach for Simon’s hand on the railing and lace my fingers between his. “The ship is going to pull us under.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve studied enough physics. The last few rational brain cells supply me with this information.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When we’re pulled into the water, I want you to kick and keep kicking up to the surface. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>let go of my hand, understood?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods. I squeeze his hand. “It’s going to be okay. We’re gonna make it. Trust me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A single tear rolls down his cheek and I really want to reach over and wipe it away. “I trust you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Those are the last words I hear before we’re plunged into darkness.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. closing walls and ticking clocks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I apologize in advance.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>The cold water hits like shards of glass digging into my skin. It was one thing wading through the cold water in the ship, and another thing entirely to be plunged into the endless waters of the Atlantic. It’s a struggle not to gasp at the sharpness of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold tight to Simon’s hand as we’re pulled downward, trying my hardest not to panic and waste the little oxygen I have stored in my frozen lungs. I kick up as hard as I can but as the suction gets stronger, I feel Simon’s hand slip out of my grasp. I open my eyes to try to find it again and see nothing but darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My lungs soon betray me. The cold air when I break the surface is like a knife being shoved down my throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snow!” I scream, hoping he somehow made it up to the surface with me. I look around, trying to find bronze curls, but it’s too dark and I’m having trouble focusing. Everyone looks the same, soaked, dark hair plastered to their foreheads, screaming out for their loved ones or for god to save them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I keep screaming out his name. God, I hope he didn’t get pulled down with the ship. He couldn’t have. I refuse to believe it. He’s a survivor. He told me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m a good swimmer</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’d said that night. Now I just have to believe it. I have to believe in him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>People around me are screaming and gripping onto random pieces of floating debris so it’s hard to hear anything over the noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think about diving back under to look for him, but there’s not much point. It’s pitch black underwater. All I can do is hope he makes it to the surface, and that fact terrifies me. If he doesn’t come up soon, he’s going to run out of air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I call out his name a few more times, trying to swim around the sea of people in search of  a familiar freckled face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My throat is raw from screaming when I hear my name being shouted out among the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simon?” I shout hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz!” I hear him yell again. And then I see him. I don’t think I’ve ever swam so fast in my life. The cold water makes my limbs feel heavy as they move, but I push.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>SIMON</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz!” I reach him and immediately grab hold of his hand. His lips are already purple and his skin is a ghostly pale. We have to get out of this water. “Come on, we need to swim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods and follows me through the crowd of flailing limbs. Some of them try to grab hold of us, but I manage to pull us out of the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My lungs burn. I thought I would drown. I couldn’t see a thing. When I got dragged away from Baz, all I could do was swim up. I kept kicking and kicking and felt like I was getting nowhere. When I finally broke the surface, my legs were just about numb from the cold, my head was spinning for lack of oxygen. I heard him immediately, screaming out my name. I’d never been so relieved to hear his voice.piece of a wall or some kind of door but I don’t really take the time to examine it. All I care about is that it looks big enough for two people to lay on.  And miraculously, no one’s claimed it yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We can both lay on it and wait for the boats to come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once we’ve gotten to the wood piece, Baz lifts me and helps me up it. It wavers a bit but otherwise works. I reach out my hand to Baz but as he tries to get on top, the wood starts to tip over, almost capsizing and taking me with it. I reach my hand out for him to try again but he doesn’t take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on.” I urge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “We can’t both fit. I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it wasn’t so goddamn cold, I might have laughed at that bullshit. “Baz, get on this thing with me or so help me god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t make a move to take my hand so I reach out further, shaking it in front of him. “Come on, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s still hesitating. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, Baz. We don’t have time for your self-sacrificing bullshit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m just about to use the last of my energy to slap some sense into him, but then he grabs my hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, when he pulls himself up, I push all my weight to the opposite side so it won’t tip under his weight. It’s still a struggle. He falls back once, but then tries again. The second time, he makes it up and the makeshift raft wavers. There’s a thin layer of water coating the top with both of us weighing it down, but it’s better than being completely submerged in the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way we’re laying has us both facing each other, so I can see his face. I take the moment to breathe. I can feel the cold air fill my lungs, and when I breath it back out, I can see my breath between us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take his hands in between mine. They’re as cold as ice. His hands are shaking, but I bring them up to breathe on them. My breath’s gotta be at least warmer than the outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It must be of some relief to him, because I feel his body relax ever so slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so pretty under the moonlight. His skin is so pale he looks dead, his lips purple and chapped. If only I could lean over and kiss them. Maybe that’d help. If I could share any of my body heat with him, I would. I shift myself ever so closer. He’s got his legs bent between us so I gently bring one of my legs up and capture one of his ankles with mine. It doesn’t do much, but it gives me comfort. He shivers at the contact but he gives me a weak smile to let me know it’s okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know how much time has passed. The boats will come, I know it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the night drags on, there’s nothing to do but think. To think about what would’ve happened if I never won those tickets. I would probably be sleeping in some alley with Penny, our day’s earnings tucked away inside our coats with too many holes in them, waiting for what the day would bring us next. We’d been on our own for quite some time. Doing anything we could to make end’s meet. Baz would probably be on a lifeboat with his family right now. If I never came on this ship, Baz would never have met me so he’d have no reason to jump off that boat. He’d be safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, I wouldn’t have met Baz. Maybe he would’ve gone through with it that first night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>These past few days have been some of the best in my life. I wouldn’t trade them for anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He means the world to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snowflakes are forming on Baz’s eyelashes. They’re so pretty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s doing much worse than me right now. He’s so thin. The only thing protecting him from the cold is the wool coat that Lamb gave him. The layers beneath do absolutely nothing for him. His shirt sticks to his skin. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were frozen that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hair is slicked back from the water and there’s little snowflakes forming there too. The tips of his ears and nose are the only color remaining to show life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point, his eyelids start to flutter shut and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that’s a bad sign.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” I say. It comes out rough and raspy, as if my vocal chords are made of ice. I shake his hands in front of me. “You have to stay awake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks at me slowly. “I’m so tired.” He slurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, love, I know. But you have to stay awake for me, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon’s hands are warm. Despite the cold, he’s still impossibly warm. He stopped blowing on my hands a while ago. I don’t know why. It felt nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands are still warm though. Or maybe I’m just so cold that anything feels warm to me– or maybe I’m just hallucinating. But whatever the case, I never want him to let go of my hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods lazily, but opens his eyes nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time Baz starts to drift off, I shake him a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It starts to get hard to think. My thoughts are foggy and muddled by the cold. Everything is numb. I can’t tell whose hands are whose anymore. The saying ‘chilled to the bone’ is starting to take on a new meaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel exhausted. Like all the energy has been sapped from my body. I’m starting to understand why Baz keeps drifting off. But I have to stay awake. I have to…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>PENNY</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>I watched the ship sink below water. I watched as hundreds of people screamed and fought to stay afloat. I managed to get aboard a boat before they were all gone, but I had to leave Shepherd behind. I feel terrible for that. I can only hope that he found his way onto a boat too. He’s a good guy. A little weird at times, but he was smart and kind. I think I might’ve actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know where Simon and his boy ended up. The last I saw of him was when he ran off. I hope they found a boat. I hope and pray with all my heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have this sinking feeling in my stomach that tells me that they didn’t catch a boat. Mine was the last one, and I didn’t see him anywhere. But I can’t shake the feeling that they’re still alive out there. Simon’s smart. He may not seem like it sometimes, but he really is. He’s a survivor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of the lifeboats that went out got as far away from the sinking ship as possible so that we weren’t swarmed by the people in the water. Our lifeboat was barely filled before it was launched. There are only about twenty or so people in this boat and there’s room for plenty more. It leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth. So many more lives could’ve been saved if we just let more people on instead of panicking and lowering the boat at such a low capacity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to go back and save those people.” I speak up. I probably say it way louder than necessary, given that everyone in the boat is shocked into silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is absolutely out of the question.” The crewman argues. “If we go back there, they’ll swamp the boats and pull all of us down with em’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shut up. There are people dying out there. There’s plenty of room here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “There’ll be one more space here if you don’t shut your mouth.” The man pulls a gun and points it straight in my face, barely a few inches away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t let my stance waver. I glare at him with the most anger I can conjure. And then I do the most courageous thing I’ve ever done. Maybe it’s partly because I know he wouldn’t shoot a woman, but I whip my hand up at lighting speed and grab hold of the barrel of the gun. His finger pulls the trigger, but I’ve already got it turned towards the water. The gunshot makes everyone in the boat scream. In the crewman’s distraction, I yank the gun from his hands and hold it out in front of me. If it weren’t for the cold, I probably wouldn’t have been able to pull it off. But his hand was shaking as he gripped the pistol, and his movements were slowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He messed with the wrong woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will lead this ship back there, or you’ll go down to the water and join them.” I cock the gun towards him and he raises his hands up in a show of surrender.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone grab an oar.” I order. The passengers are a mix of middle and lower class since most of the first class passengers had already been loaded onto boats. There are a few men, but mostly women. The women sitting by an oar don’t hesitate. They grab an oar and look at me for further instruction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bring the pistol back up towards the crewman and order him to give them directions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t grab an oar myself but I do grab a lantern to light it. I don’t let go of the pistol. I don’t think I’d shoot it, but I need it for leverage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re so far out that it takes a while to get to the people in the water. By the time we get there, there’s barely any movement in the water at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, Simon.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d been trying so hard not to doze off. But I realize when I hear yelling in the distance that I must have. The sound is muffled, but it’s there. The boats must be here. I have to tell Baz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I look at him, his eyes have closed again. Dammit, I told him not to do that. I shake his hands to wake him, but it doesn’t work. I try again, harder this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still doesn’t move. Oh, god.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz?” I try, but it comes out more like a wheeze. “Baz, wake up, the lifeboats are here.” I shake him again. His eyes stay closed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. come out upon my seas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve been trying to shake him awake for what feels like hours but it’s probably only been minutes. I can’t think straight. Everything is slowed and every time I move, shards of glass pierce my skin and make my muscles ache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t breathe. My lungs burn as I try to quell the panic rising in my chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t be dead. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I refuse to believe it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember that he could very well just be unconscious. Closed eyes doesn’t equate to death, except in our situation it very well could be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not moving. His lips are parted but I don’t see any rise or fall of his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bring my hand to grip around his wrist to see if I can feel a pulse there. I’m not really sure I’m doing this right, I’m not trained or anything. I just press and wait, trying to feel something. Anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s just too weak to feel. Maybe I just don’t know how to find his pulse there. I bring my fingers up to the side of his neck to see if there’s anything there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wait, I watch him and I pray. I don’t know any prayers. I never pray, but I do now. I think I’m crying. I can feel my tears leaving frozen tracks along my cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on.” I wheeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press my fingers in different spots on his neck, not sure where the best place to feel it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each time I move my fingers and feel nothing, I lose hope. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to live. He was supposed to get in that lifeboat and go to New York and I was supposed to be the one left to die in the middle of the Atlantic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is all my fault. If I’d never gone to him that day. If I’d just let him go instead of being selfish and trying to keep him to myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point I give up the search for signs of life and move my trembling hand to stroke his cheek. His hair is wet and frozen in place, out of his face, like the night I’d seen him on the railing of the ship. There’s frost biting at his cheeks and along his lips.</span>
  <em>
    <span> I told you the water’s cold, you prat</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull his hands closer to me and kiss each of his knuckles, trying to pour as much warmth as I can into him. I don’t know what I expect to come of it. Some sort of last ditch effort. Some semblance of hope that he’ll wake up and say ‘Bugger off, Snow. I’m not dead. Stop crying you idiot’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what I do see makes my heart jump in my chest. I wait to see if it happens again. It does. I can see small puffs of air escaping between his lips. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s alive. I don’t know how I missed it. Maybe I wasn’t looking. Maybe my cold-muddled brain just couldn’t process seeing it. I bring my hand back up to his neck and try again, pressing harder and longer this time. And then I feel it. A pulse. It’s slow and so weak but it’s there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re going to be okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I keep kissing his knuckles, thanking the heavens that he’s still alive. He’s breathing. I’m breathing. We’re both breathing and alive and the boats are coming for us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere in the distance, I see a light moving across the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” I try to scream, but nothing comes out. Then I remember my voice is gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have to get their attention somehow. They look like they’re coming towards us. I just have to let them know we’re alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, I raise my arm toward the sky. It’s painful. It’s like my joints are frozen together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I move my hand as much as I can in an attempt to get the boat’s attention. I stretch my arm out as high as I can even though it hurts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>PENNY</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to see anything in the dark water. I reach my lantern over the edge to try and see if any of the bodies are moving. It makes me sick thinking how we’re wading through hundreds of dead people. These people had families. These are peoples’ husbands and wifes and children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all have the same sickly white coloring. It would be so much easier to see if we had a torch instead of this dingy lantern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I keep shouting, hoping to hear a response back from a survivor. Nothing. It’s completely silent. I start to think maybe we’re too late. They’ve all frozen to death already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then I see it. In the distance, I see a hand reach up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Over there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We carefully row through the floating bodies towards where I saw the arm reach out. It’s dropped now but I remember where it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as we’re close enough, I hold out my lantern to see who’s in the water. There’s two men laying on a large piece of wood. It looks like some kind of door or a piece of a wall. The intricate wood design makes me think it came from first-class.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I see who’s on the wood, I almost drop my lantern.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Simon.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve never seen him look so pale. His lips are blue and his hands are clenched around the other man’s. Who I then realize is Baz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simon!” I call out. He opens his eyes slowly and looks at me. A small smile forms on his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have the boat turn so that it’s parallel to their make-shift raft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I reach out my hand to help Simon but he just shakes his head and brings his hand up to point at Baz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Him first.” He wheezes. Then Simon rolls himself off the wood and into the water, holding onto the wood for support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. “Make some room.” I yell to the people around me. They silently shuffle closer together and away from the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz isn’t moving. I think he might be unconscious. I have the man next to me help pull him off the raft. Simon helps from below in the water. As soon as we’ve got Baz into the boat, we grab Simon’s arms and lift him over the edge. He lands with a plop on the bottom of the rowboat. The added weight makes the boat rock a bit but it soon levels out again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The extra blankets in the boat have already been distributed to the women and children but two of them kindly offer their blankets to Simon. He thanks them with a smile, though his voice is rough and barely there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes one blanket and drapes it over Baz. The other he wraps around himself and lays himself next to Baz on the floor of the boat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Two women kindly offer up their blankets to us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz is still unconscious but he’s alive. I know because I haven’t stopped checking his pulse since we got pulled into the boat. Penny thinks he might have fallen into a coma but we’re not too sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take one of the blankets and drape it over Baz. I consider taking off the frozen silk shirt first but I decide my hands are way too shaky to unbutton it. So I just wrap the second blanket around my shoulders and lay down next to him. There’s just enough room for me to curl myself around him between the benches of the rowboat. No one says anything about it, so I stay here, my head resting over Baz’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can hear his heartbeat this way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stop to pick up a few more survivors, but there aren’t very many.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then we wait.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a weight on my chest and wrapped around my leg. My eyelids feel like they’ve been frozen shut, but I pry them open regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look down to see a head of bronze curls. I’ve got a blanket draped on me and he’s got one wrapped around both of us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s still so cold, but he’s warm. I bring my hand up and with the little energy I have left, I pull him closer to me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>All we have to do is wait. Wait to live. Wait to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone is huddled together for warmth. Baz and I are still laying together on the floor of the boat. Someone is passing a flask around, but I turn it down. As much as I’d like to drink this night away, I don’t think I could stomach alcohol right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz is awake. After I felt him pull me closer, he slept for at least another hour. But now we’re both up, our hands intertwined between us. I’m surprised he woke up at all. Penny said he might not wake up and after a while I was starting to believe it. But despite the cold, I could feel my body start to warm up. I’ve always been naturally warm. The blanket helps a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I never stopped trying to warm him up. Rubbing my hands up and down his arms, brushing the frost out of his hair and off of his cheeks and lips. I even took to breathing onto his hands again. At some point he started to shiver when I’d make attempts to warm him up and I knew then that he was coming back to us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m so relieved he’s alive. That he’s right here next to me, holding my hand despite all that’s happened. Against all odds, we made it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rowboat is silent. No one talks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penny sits on the bench next to us, looking up at the brightening sky. It’s not quite sunrise, but it’s not pitch black like before. I reach up to take her hand with my free one. She looks down and squeezes it. The three of us look between each other with the same sad look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the rowboat nearest to us, the crewman lights a green flare and I think he might be signaling a ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not long after that, that we’re being brought up onto the ship that apparently had been sent to rescue us. I lost track of time through the night but Penny says it’s been about four hours since the ship sunk. The ship that came for us is a lot smaller than the Titanic, but it’s large enough to fit the Titanic’s survivors on its deck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Survivors. We’re survivors. The rest of the passengers are dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crewmen separate the first-class from the third-class, but Baz stays with me. No one questions him when he follows me to steerage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They give us new blankets and cups of warm water. The sun is rising and casting a warmth over the ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The deck is crowded with passengers. Those who have family members with them, are huddled on the floor, passing around pitchers of warm water. Those who don’t have family members with them are either searching or have given up and sit alone against the sides of the ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz and I find a crate to sit on together. We’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, leaning into each other. Baz has his blanket wrapped around his head like a hood, which looks a little ridiculous but I don’t say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penny walked off to try and find Shepard earlier, we haven’t seen her since.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a man walking around with a clipboard and a pen asking for people’s names. He walks over to us now. I give him my name and then he turns to take Baz’s down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz Snow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think my hearing must be muffled still from the cold, because I definitely did not just hear him right. Did he just use </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> last name?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the man walks away I turn to Baz with a teasing smile. “You just used my last name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t think too much into it. It’s just easier to run from my family if I don’t carry around their last name.” He responds. He doesn’t look me in the eyes though, he seems embarrassed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hum. “I think I like the sound of it though. Baz</span>
  <em>
    <span> Snow</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shoves my shoulder with his and I laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know if we both have the same last name, that means you’ll have to stop calling me Snow.” I point out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never gonna happen.” He shakes his head and sips his water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I happen to remember several occasions in which the name that left your lips was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Simon</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re delusional. Maybe the hypothermia got to your brain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone clears their throat behind me and I turn to see Penny. Accompanied by none other than Shepard. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth when I see that he has a hand wrapped around her waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re alive.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckles. “Thankfully.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheers.” Baz says next to me, holding up his cup. Shepard holds his up in a mirror image.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually Baz and I move to sit on the ground so we can all sit together as a group. It’s silent. None of us really have the energy to converse so we just sit in each other’s company. I lean my head on Baz’s shoulder and intertwine my fingers with his. Then I rub my thumb over the back of his hand and savor the feeling. We’re so lucky to be alive. All of us. Penny and Shepard were lucky enough to find a boat. Baz and I are lucky to not have frozen to death. It’s a lot to process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of us have matching bags under our eyes. We went a whole night with barely an ounce of sleep. I should sleep now, but I think I’m still too spooked about almost freezing to death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Penny asks me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When we get to New York, what do we do then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs. “Work our way across America I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. That was the plan to begin with so I guess none of that should change now. Except now I have Baz, and she has Shepard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to come with us?” I lift my head up to look at Baz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought that was a given.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug. “Just wanted to be sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you think I’m letting you wander around America without me, you’re even more of an idiot than I thought.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes three days to get to New York once we’re brought aboard the Carpathia. They don’t have many rooms available, so Simon and I are forced to share a bunk, which I can’t complain about. He’s like an octopus when he sleeps. He clings to me and wraps both his arms and legs around me. He’s so warm, especially at night. I’ve never slept so well in all my life and I’m starting to think I’ll never be able to sleep alone again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We haven’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything since that night on the Titanic, but there’s been plenty of kisses and snogging against various walls of this ship too. We haven’t really felt the need to do anything more, content to just stay in each other's arms. We’re still trying to pick ourselves back up after the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>experience</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Simon is good about not dwelling over what’s happened. The first night, we laid together and cried. But the next morning, he was almost back to normal. Almost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smiles were just a little less bright. Not noticeable to anyone else, but indisputable to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His kisses are softer now, and slower, like he’s trying to savor it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I suppose the wedding will be cancelled. My family never came looking for me so I guess they assumed I’d died in the wreckage. My heart aches for Fiona. She was the only one who truly cared about me. Maybe once all of this blows over, I’ll write her a letter. Just to let her know I’m okay. I trust her not to tell my family I’m alive. She never listened to my father anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We saw Lamb the second day aboard the ship. Simon and I ducked away to make sure he wouldn’t see us. He was alone, leaning against the rail, a fag between his lips. He wasn’t among the crowd they had saved from the water, so he must have gotten on a boat. How that bastard managed to make it onto another boat is beyond me but I wouldn’t doubt it if he’d kill someone to take their place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even after everything that’s happened, I’m not angry at him. I don’t hope he burns in hell. I just pity him. I can’t help but hope he gets better. I hope he finds happiness and it changes him. He’s a sad man, I can tell. All he has to care for in the world is his wealth. And I guess, he tried to care for me, though he failed miserably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I found the necklace he’d given me in the pocket of his coat that I wore around my shoulders. Simon suggested we should pawn it off for money. I know he meant well but I couldn’t help but tease him about the fact that he’d been arrested for being accused of trying to do just that. I didn’t really care though. I had the same thought when I pulled it out of my pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I think I’d like to keep it. As a reminder of where I came from, and maybe also so Simon can redraw that picture of me someday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so, when I step off the Carpathia, with nothing but the necklace in my pocket and Simon’s hand in mine, it’s a fresh start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the beginning of a new journey. Wherever he goes, I go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he jumps, I jump.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so so much for reading!!! There will be an epilogue after this so stay tuned!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. home, home, where i wanted to go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry this epilogue is short, but I didn't want to make it too long. It's meant to just be a little summary of what happens to our boys when they reach America :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Manhattan isn’t much different from London. The air is so thick it’s hard to breath. The streets are always crowded with people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz found a job working in a library. It’s run by two older men. Or I suppose, it’s run by one older man. The other usually just lounges around sipping tea and keeping the other company. We later found out that they’re actually a couple. Baz and I had been hesitant to reveal our relationship to them but once they’d figured it out, we all had a laugh about it. We’d been under the guise as best friends before but it’d been a tad difficult to maintain. It’s not like we can go around kissing against all the walls and bookshelves freely, although I do try every once in a while when no one is looking, but now we don’t have to pretend to me just ‘mates’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an unused apartment above the library. The owner recently moved into his partner’s house and was kind enough to let Baz and I stay there while he worked. He didn’t make any income working there since the job was basically paying off the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My job was the one that brought us money. It’s not a lot. I wasn’t able to find any stable jobs so soon and with so little experience, so I worked as a day laborer. I took on whatever jobs people needed me to do. I would usually get paid about fifty cents an hour. Seventy if they’re one of the richer fellows. Oftentimes if my hirer needed another man, I would invite Shepherd along with me. He and Penny lived together in the city. She told me she’d found a job in a factory. It was considerably good pay for the type of work she’d been doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first sum of money I earned went to a new sketchbook and charcoal. Baz insisted. It’s nicer than my old one. This one is bound with dark brown leather and the pages are stiff and smooth to sketch on. I did as many commissions as I could. It took a while to build my portfolio up again but I managed to get quite a few commissions for ten cents a piece. A good chunk of the money I made went to keeping us fed, but the rest we kept aside in a jar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Our plan was to save up enough money to buy tickets for the transcontinental railroad to take us from New York to California. We had the option of taking a boat there, but we all decided against it, for obvious reasons. I’m sure there’s not many icebergs in the south Atlantic or the Pacific, but you can’t be too careful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes us almost half a year to save up the money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Our time in Manhattan isn’t all bad. Our apartment is small and dingy with very few windows, and Baz complains about it every second, but it’s kind of nice. I’ve never really had a place to stay. And now I get to be with a man who I love. I get to fall asleep next to him every night and wake up to him in the morning. I know he doesn’t really hate it here either, as much as he complains. He’s started tutoring some of the kids who come into the library to study. Most of the kids don’t have much money, so he never charges them. But he does it anyway, and he enjoys it. On the days I don’t have a job lined up, I get to sit at one of the library tables and watch him while he works. Occasionally I’ll take my sketchbook and draw him when he’s not looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really likes these kids. He’s good with them. Sometimes I’ll find him teaching whole groups of kids. It’s almost like his own little classroom and I can’t help but to think what an amazing teacher he’d make. One time I even caught him at the dining table writing on a sheet of paper titled ‘lesson plan’. I teased him for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He writes to his aunt now. They write back and forth every week. We waited a while so things would die down, and so that we could track down her new address (which was not easy). Baz’s family thinks him dead, and we’ve asked her to keep it that way. She agreed easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know he misses his family. He tries to tell me it’s fine, but I know he’s lying. His father may have been a self-centered asshole but Baz still grew up with him. He’s told me about his half siblings. He’s not very close to the younger ones, but he speaks of the older one, Mordelia, a lot. Maybe one day he’ll see her again. Baz and I talked about what to do about his family, and if he was ever going to see them again. We both decided it’d be best to get away for now. The last time we saw Lamb, he had a gun pointed at us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving Manhattan is a little bittersweet. The library owner’s husband offered to drive Baz, Penny, Shepherd and me to the train station. Before we depart, he hands Baz a book. I recognize it because it’s the one he’d been reading at night before bed for the past few nights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waves us off as we ride away from the station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The seating arrangements in the train car aren’t exactly ideal, but it’s all we could afford. The seats have no cushion to them and barely any leg room, but we make do. We take turns who gets to sleep against the window and who gets to sleep against the other’s shoulder. It’s a ten day trip to get from New York to California. Most of our time is spent with hushed conversations. Pen brought a deck of cards so occasionally we’ll sit on the floor of the car and play some games. Baz also has a few books he’s brought along and sometimes he reads them to me as I look out the window or as I fall asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America is so vast and beautiful. There’s nothing out here but mountains and rolling fields, for the most part untouched by humans. It stretches on for miles and sometimes I wonder if it’ll ever end. The train only made a few stops along the way where we could get out and buy food, so we made sure to stock up each time so our meals would last us the whole way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We arrive in California in the early morning and our first idea is to visit the beach. It’s another journey and a half just to get there, but it’s worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve never been to the beach, but Baz has. All of us take our shoes off and walk into the cold waters of the pacific. The water washes the sand from my feet and leaves imprints beneath them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz never wears his hair slicked back anymore, but he has taken to wearing the top half in a small bun in the back of his head. I think it makes him look especially handsome. Now he undoes the bun, shaking out his hair in the wind. He’s been letting it grow out, so now it's down past his shoulders. It somehow makes him even more gorgeous though I didn’t think that would be possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take his hand in mine and breathe in the salty breeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The setting sun licks across his face and highlights the grey speckles in his eyes. It reminds me of the time I held him at the front of the ship. He turns to kiss me and when we break apart I know there is nothing we couldn’t do. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you guys SO much for reading. I didn't expect to have so much positive feedback. Each and every one of your comments made my day.<br/>Honestly, I'm really proud of myself for finishing this fic. I usually end up dropping them half way when I lose inspiration but I just knew I had to finish this one. Right now I'm working on a Pride and Prejudice AU so look out for that!! I want to finish writing the first draft of it before I start posting so it may be a while especially with school starting back up, but I hope to publish it eventually. I am very excited for it :)<br/>Please let me know what you thought in the comments!! I'd love to hear from you guys! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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